
"' \* 



r o ^ 



/ 



: ^4 




^ < 



O. 






% 






\' V * 



^r 






v* iJ 






-V 



^ 














* CL>' 

*K 4' 



^ 












X° ©x. 





</• ,<; 







,•0' ^ ,# 



"0Q X 


1 ; '^ v* 















.Miss L. Sharp <£>./ 



■ 



wmm 







.HOC, A >' & TMOMIP^OH 



THE 



AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 



J 

BY CHARLES feUTLER, ESQ. 






23 




HOG AN & THOMPSON, 



1836, 









Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 
1836, by Hogan & Thompson, in the clerk's office of 
the district court of the eastern district of Pennsylvania. 



JZ^&3 



Stereotyped by John Fagan Philadelphia. 



PREFACE. 



Perhaps there is no word in our language to 
which so many different meanings are attach- 
ed as the word Gentleman. Some persons 
limit its application to that class of men whose 
pecuniary circumstances raise them above the 
necessity of attending to any business in order 
to procure the means of subsistence. Others 
restrict the term to the members of certain par- 
ticular families, whose fathers or grandfathers 
were, or were supposed to be, gentlemen — how 
these last mentioned persons became gentle- 
men, being, meanwhile, a matter of uncertain- 
ty. Others call those, and those only, gentle- 
men, who are profuse in the expenditure of 
money, and practise all manner of gentleman- 
ly vices. Others, again — but there would be 
no end to the task of enumerating the different 
meanings of this every-day word. They are as 
various as the caprices of fashion, and as change- 
able as the politics of a modern patriot. 

Still, amidst all this variety and uncertainty, 



there is an idea which the common sense of 
the people of this nation has attached to the 
word — an assemblage of traits which all will 
unite in ascribing to the genuine character — so 
that there is something distinctive and definite 
in the term which we have adopted for the title 
of this volume — The American Gentleman. 

The term cannot be denned in a few words, 
or the characters described in a few sentences. 
It comprises many and various merits ; much 
that is noble after the fashion of nature's no- 
bility; much that is manly, in the masculine 
sense of the word ; much that is worthy, even 
according to the highest standard of worth. To 
develop fully the beau ideal of an American 
gentleman, one should write whole volumes of 
sound morality, and whole treatises of that gen- 
uine politeness which has its foundation in 
kindness of heart and purpose. To present a 
model for our countrymen, we have only to 
refer to our own Washington, who united the 
dignity and the polish with the genuine excel- 
lence and elevation of soul which mark the true 
gentleman. He needed no patent from the hand 
of royalty. He was knighted by a nobler hand 
than Bayard's. He was stamped by the touch 



PREFACE. Vll 

of his Maker with that impress which marked 
him " the choice and master spirit of his age." 
The effects of his acts as a general and a states- 
man, will be felt by our countrymen to the 
latest posterity. May the benefit of his exam- 
ple as a man and a gentleman, be as extensive- 
ly diffused. 

In the following pages I have attempted to 
furnish some useful hints and directions to- 
wards the formation of the character of a, true 
American gentleman. A character which, after 
the reference I have already made to an exalt- 
ed and thrice-honoured personage, it is hardly 
necessary to remark, has worth for its basis, 
dignity for its support, and grace for its adorn- 
ing. In selecting the materials for such a 
work as the present, I have necessarily had re- 
course to a variety of the best and ablest wri- 
ters who have treated on human life and con- 
duct. I have endeavoured to arrange the dif- 
ferent subjects with some attention to their na- 
tural order, and to give the work a degree of 
unity and completeness. Still I feel that 1 
have only made an approximation towards the 
full accomplishment of the original design. 
There is much left to the judgment, taste, and 
discretion of the reader — much to supply — per- 



Vlll PREFACE. 

adventure somewhat to forgive. I can only ask 
the indulgence of my countrymen towards an 
attempt which has for its object the general 
diffusion of correct and manly principles in the 
conduct of life. 



CONTENTS. 



On Entrance into Life, and the Conduct of 

Early Manhood Page 13 

On the Importance of a Good Character, con- 
sidered only with respect to Interest . . 20 
Hints to those who are designed for a Mer- 
cantile Life . ^ 23 

On Supporting the Dignity of the Commer- 
cial Character . . . , 31 

On the Selfishness of Men of the World 36 

On the Value of an Honest Man 41 

A Short System of Virtue and Happiness ... 52 

On the Influence of Fashion 46 

The Peculiar Propriety of Exciting Personal 
Merit and Manly Virtue in a Time of 

Public Distress and Difficulty 60 

On the Propriety of adorning Life, and serv- 
ing Society, by Laudable Exertion .... 64 
Religious and Moral Principles not only con- 
sistent with, but promotive of, True Po- 
liteness and the Art of Pleasing 69 

On the Fear of Appearing singular 74 

On that Kind of Wisdom which Consists in 
Accommodation and Compliance, with- 
out any Principles but those of Selfish- 
ness . . * 80 



X CONTENTS. 

On the Influence of Politics, as a Subject of 

Conversation, on the State of Literature 89 

On the Peculiar Danger of falling into Indo- 
lence in a Literary and Retired Life ... 94 

On the Beauty and Happiness of an Open Be- 
haviour and an Ingenuous Disposition . . 99 

A Life of Literary Pursuits usually a Life of 

Comparative Innocence 105 

On the Folly of sacrificing Comfort to Taste 110 

On the Superior Value of Solid Accomplish- 
ments 114 

■V- 

The Difficulty of conquering Habit 120 

Chastity a valuable Virtue in a Man 122 

The Characters of Gamesters 125 

Conversation 130 

How to please in Conversation 132 

Good Manners 134 

Politeness 142 

Necessity of Cultivating Politeness 156 

Good-Humour 159 

The Effect of Modern Riches upon the Man- 
ners 162 

The Importance of Punctuality 169 

Endeavour to Please and you can scarcely 

fail to Please 171 

Directions for the Management of Wit 176 

Egotism to be avoided 179 

Envy 183 

Example, its Prevalence 186 



CONTENTS. XI 

Dangerous, when copied without Judgment . 187 

The Love of Fame 189 

Delicacy Constitutional, and often Dangerous 192 

Delicacy of Taste desirable 193 

It teaches us to select our Company 195 

Detraction a detestable Vice 196 

Learning should be sometimes applied to cul- 
tivate our Morals , 198 

Its Progress 200 

Useless without Taste 203 

On the Guilt of Incurring Debts without 
either a Prospect or an Intention of Pay- 
ment 204 

On the Folly of being anxiously curious to 
inquire what is said of us in our Ab- 
sence 210 

On Affectation of the Vices and Follies of 

Men of Eminence 218 

On the Means of rendering Old Age Honour- 
able and Comfortable 222 

On the Necessity of Temperance to the Health 

of the Mind 230 

On the Vanity and Folly of departing from 
our Proper Sphere to become Authors 
and Orators, without previous and suffi- 
cient Preparation 233 

On Forming Connexions without Friendship 240 
Moral Maxims and Reflections — to be observ- 
ed 244 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Maxims and Practices of the World — to be 

shunned 246 

On forming- a Taste for Simple Pleasures . . 249 
A Cultivated Mind necessary to render Re- 
tirement agreeable 256 

On an excessive and indiscriminate Love of 
Company, and an Abhorrence of occa- 
sional Solitude 260 

The Pleasures of a Garden 265 

The Pleasures of Reflection 271 

Taste for the Cultivation of Flowers, and of 

beautiful Shrubs and Trees 273 

Happiness of Domestic Life 279 

A Concluding Essay 285 



AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 



ON ENTRANCE INTO LIFE, AND THE CONDUCT 
OF EARLY MANHOOD. 

There seems to be a peculiar propriety in 
addressing moral precepts to the rising gene- 
ration. Besides that, like travellers entering 
on a journey, they want direction, there are 
circumstances which render it probable that 
instruction will be more efficacious in youth 
than at a maturer period. Long habits of busi- 
ness or pleasure, and an indiscriminate inter- 
course with mankind, often superinduce a great 
degree of insensibility ; and the battered vete- 
ran at last considers the admonitions of the mo- 
ralist as the vain babbling of a sophist, and the 
declamation of a school-boy. The keen edge 
of moral perception is blunted by long and reit- 
erated collision ; and to him who has lost the 
finer sensibilities, it is no less fruitless to ad- 
dress a moral discourse than to represent to the 
deaf the charms of melody, or to the blind the 
beauties of a picture. 

But youth possesses sensibility in perfection ; 
and, unless education has been totally neglect- 



14 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ed, or erroneously pursued, its habits are usu- 
ally virtuous. Innocence leaves the mind at 
liberty, in early youth, to soar after every thing 
which is generous, noble, or sublime, in morals 
and intellectuals. Furnished with a natural 
susceptibility, and free from any acquired im- 
pediment, the mind is then in the most favour- 
able state for the admission of instruction, and 
for learning how to live. 

I will, then, address myself to a young man 
who has passed through the forms of a liberal 
education at school, and who is just entering 
on the stage of life, to act his part according to 
his own judgment. I will address him with all 
the affection and sincerity of a parent, in the 
following manner : 

" You have violent passions implanted in you 
by Nature for the accomplishment of her pur- 
poses ; but conclude not, as many have done to 
their ruin, that because they are violent, they 
are irresistible. The same Nature which gave 
you passions, gave you also reason, and a love 
of order. Religion, added to the light of Na- 
ture and the experience of mankind, has con- 
curred in establishing it as an unquestionable 
truth, that the irregular or intemperate indul- 
gence of the passions is always attended with 
pain, in some mode or other, which greatly ex- 
ceeds its pleasure. 

" Your passions will be easily restrained from 
enormous excess, if you really wish and honestly 
endeavour to restrain them. But the greater 
part of young men study to inflame their fury, 



ENTRANCE INTO LIFE. 15 

and give them a degree of force which they 
possess not in a state of nature. They run into 
temptation, and desire not to be delivered from 
evil. They knowingly and willingly sacrifice 
to momentary gratifications the comfort of all 
which should sweeten the remainder of life. 
Begin, then, with most sincerely wishing to 
conquer those subtle and powerful enemies 
whom you carry in your bosom. Pray for Di- 
vine assistance. Avoid solitude the first moment 
a loose thought insinuates itself, and hasten to 
the company of those whom you respect. Con- 
verse not on subjects which lead to impure 
ideas. Have courage to decline reading immo- 
ral books, even when they fall into your hands. 
If, at a proper age, you form a strong attach- 
ment to a virtuous woman, dare, with the sanc- 
tion of parental approbation, to marry. It is 
better to be poor than wicked. Cherish the 
object of your early love. Be industrious, and 
trust in Providence. 

" Thus shall you avoid the perpetual torments 
of unruly affection, the most loathsome of dis- 
eases, and the thousand penalties of selfish ce- 
libacy. Thus shall you please God and your 
own heart, if it is a good one ; and displease 
none but an ill-judging and wicked world, and 
perhaps a few of your covetous relations, whom 
avarice may have rendered insensible to any 
charms but those of sordid lucre. 

" But really you have not so much to fear 
from the violence of the concupiscible affections, 
when unassisted by voluntary compliance, as 



16 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

from vanity. The perverse ambition of arriv- 
ing at the character of a man of spirit by vi- 
cious audacity has of late universally prevailed, 
and has ruined a great part of the rising gene- 
ration. I have known many young 1 men proud 
of the impurest distempers, and boasting of mis- 
fortunes which are attended with the greatest 
pain and misery, and ought to be accompanied 
with shame. Far more have taken pains to shine, 
amidst the little circle of their vicious acquaint- 
ance, in the character of gay libertines, than to 
acquire, by useful qualities, the esteem of the 
good. From motives of vanity, health and 
peace are sacrificed, fortunes lavished without 
credit or enjoyment, every relative and personal 
duty neglected, and religion boldly set at defi- 
ance. To be admitted into the company of 
those who disgrace the family name which they 
inherit, thousands plunge into debauchery with- 
out passion, into drunkenness without convivial 
enjoyment, into gaming without the means or 
inclination for play. Old age rapidly advances. 
When vanity at length retreats from insult and 
from mortification, avarice succeeds ; and mean- 
ness, and disease, and disgrace, and poverty, 
and discontent, and despair, diffuse clouds and 
darkness over the evening of life. Such is the 
lot of those who glory in their shame, and are 
ashamed of their glory. 

" Have sense and resolution enough, there- 
fore, to give up all pretensions to those titles, 
of a fine fellow, a rake, or whatever vulgar 
name the temporary cant of the vicious bestows 



ENTRANCE INTO LIFE. 17 

on the distinguished libertine. Preserve your 
principles, and be steady in your conduct. And 
though your exemplary behaviour may bring 
upon you the insulting and ironical appellation 
of a Saint, a Puritan, or even a Methodist, per- 
severe in rectitude. It will be in your power 
soon not indeed to insult, but to pity. Have 
spirit, and display it. But let it be that sort of 
spirit which urges you to proceed in the path in 
which you were placed by the faithful guide of 
your infancy. Exhibit a noble superiority in 
daring to disregard the artful and malicious 
reproaches of the vain and vicious, who labour 
to make you a convert to folly, in order to keep 
them in countenance. They will laugh at first, 
but esteem you in their hearts even while they 
laugh, and in the end revere your virtue. 

" Let that generous courage which conscious 
rectitude inspires, enable you to despise and 
neglect the assaults of ridicule. When all other 
modes of attack have failed, ridicule has succeed- 
ed. The bulwark of virtue, which stood firmly 
against the weapons of argument, has tottered 
on its basis, or fallen to the ground, touched by 
the wand of magic ridicule. In the school, in 
the college, in the world at large, it is the pow- 
erful engine which is used to level an exalted 
character. You will infallibly be attacked with 
it, if you are in any respects singular; and sin- 
gular in many respects you must be, if you are 
eminently virtuous. 

" Love truth, and dare to speak it at all events. 
The man of the world will tell you, you must 
2 



18 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

dissemble ; and so you must, if your objects and 
pursuits are like his, mean and selfish. But 
your purposes are generous ; and your methods 
of obtaining them are therefore undisguised. 
You mean well. Avow your meaning, if hcr- 
nour requires the avowal, and fear nothing. 
You will, indeed, do right to wish to please ; 
but you will be anxious to please the worthy 
only, and none but worthy actions will effect 
that purpose. With respect to that art of pleas- 
ing which requires the sacrifice of your sin- 
cerity, despise it, as the base quality of flatter- 
ers, sycophants, cheats, and scoundrels. An 
habitual liar, besides that he will be known and 
marked with infamy, must possess a poor and 
pusillanimous heart; for lying originates in 
cowardice. It originates also in fraud ; and a 
liar, whatever may be his station, would cer- 
tainly, if he were sure of secrecy, be a thief. 
Sorry am I to say, that this habit is very com- 
mon in the world, even among those who make 
a figure in the realms of dissipation ; those 
whose honour would compel them to stab you 
to the heart, if you were to tell them plainly 
the mortifying truth, that you convict them of 
a lie. 

" With all your good qualities unite the hu- 
mility of a Christian. Be not morose. Be cau- 
tious of overvaluing yourself. Make allowances 
for the vices and errors which you will daily 
see. Remember that all have not had the ben- 
efit of moral instruction ; that a great part of 
mankind are in effect orphans turned loose into 



ENTRANCE INTO LIFE. 19 

the wide world, without one faithful friend to 
give them advice ; left to find their own way 
in a dark and rugged wilderness, with snares, 
and quicksands, and chasms around them. Be 
candid, therefore, and, among all the improve- 
ments of education and refinements of manners, 
let the beautiful Christian graces of Meekness 
and Benevolence shine most conspicuous. Re- 
lieve distress, prevent mischief, and do good, 
wherever you can ; but be neither ostentatious 
nor censorious. 

" Be cheerful, and gratefully enjoy the good 
which Providence has bestowed upon you. 
But be moderate. Moderation is the law of en- 
joyment. All beyond is nominal pleasure and 
real pain. 

" I will not multiply my precepts. Choose 
good books, and follow their direction. Adopt 
religious, virtuous, manly principles. Fix them 
deeply in your bosom, and let them go with you 
unloosened and unaltered to the grave. 

" If you follow such advice as, from the pure 
motive of serving you most essentially, I have 
given you, I will not, indeed, promise that you 
shall not be unfortunate, according to the com- 
mon idea of the word ; but I will confidently 
assure you that you shall not be unhappy. I 
will not promise you worldly success, but I will 
engage that you shall deserve it, and shall 
know how to bear its absence." 



20 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 



ON THE IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD CHARACTER, 
CONSIDERED ONLY WITH RESPECT TO IN- 
TEREST. 

As the minds of men are infinitely various, 
and as they are therefore influenced in the 
choice of a conduct by different inducements, 
the moralist must omit no motive, however 
subordinate in its nature, while it appears likely 
to lead some among mankind to a laudable or 
even a blameless behaviour. A regard to ease, 
to interest, and to success, in the usual pursuits 
of wealth and ambition, may induce many to 
pursue an honest and honourable conduct who 
would not have been influenced by purer mo- 
tives; but who, after they have once perceived 
the intrinsic excellence and beauty of such a 
conduct, will probably persevere in it for its 
own sake, and upon higher considerations. 

To those who are to make their own way 
either to wealth or honours, a good character 
is usually no less necessary than address and 
abilities. Though human nature is degenerate, 
and corrupts itself still more by its own inven- 
tions, yet it usually retains to the last an esteem 
for excellence. But even if we are arrived at 
such an extreme degree of depravity as to have 
lost our native reverence for virtue, yet a re- 
gard to our own interest and safety, which we 
seldom lose, will lead us to apply for aid, in all 
important transactions, to men whose integrity 
is unimpeached. When we choose an assistant 
or associate in a profession, a partner, or a ser- 






IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD CHARACTER. 21 



vant, our first inquiry is concerning' his charac- 
ter. When we have occasion for a counsellor 
or attorney, a physician or apothecary, what- 
ever we may be ourselves, we always choose 
to trust our property and persons to men of the 
best character. When we fix on the trades- 
men who are to supply us with necessaries, we 
are not determined by the outward sign of the 
lamb, or the wolf, or the fox, nor by a shop fit- 
ted up in the most elegant taste, but by the 
fairest reputation. Look into a daily newspa- 
per, and you will see, from the highest to the 
lowest rank, how important the characters of 
the employed appear to the employers. After 
the advertisement has enumerated the qualities 
required in the person wanted, there constantly 
follows, that none need apply who cannot bring' 
an undeniable character. Offer yourself as a 
candidate for a seat in congress, be promoted 
to honour and emolument, or in any respect at- 
tract the attention of mankind upon yourself, 
and if you are vulnerable in your character, 
you will be deeply wounded. This is a gene- 
ral testimony in favour of honesty, which no 
writings and no practices can possibly refute. 

Young men, therefore, whose moral charac- 
ters are yet unfixed, and who, consequently, 
may render them just such as they wish, ought 
to pay great attention to the first steps which 
they take on entrance into life. They are usu- 
ally careless and inattentive to this object. 
They pursue their own plans w T ith ardour, and 
neglect the opinions which others entertain of 



22 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

them. By some thoughtless action or expres- 
sion, they suffer a mark to be impressed upon 
them, which scarcely any subsequent merit can 
entirely erase. Every man will find some per- 
sons, who, though they are not professed ene- 
mies, yet view him with an envious or a jealous 
eye, and who will gladly revive and aggravate 
any tale which malice has invented, or to which 
truth has given the slightest foundation. 

Indeed, all men are so much inclined to flat- 
ter their own pride by detracting from the re- 
putation of others, that, even if we were able 
to maintain an immaculate conduct, it would 
still be difficult to preserve an immaculate cha- 
racter. But yet it is wisdom not to furnish this 
detracting spirit with real subjects for the ex- 
ercise of its activity. While calumny is sup- 
ported only by imagination, or by malice, we 
may sometimes remove, by contradicting it; 
but wherever folly or vice have supplied facts, 
we can seldom do more than aggravate the evil, 
by giving it an apparent attention. The ma- 
lignity of some, among the various dispositions 
of which mankind are composed, is often highly 
gratified at the view of injured sensibility. 

In this turbulent and confused scene, where 
our words and actions are often misunderstood, 
and oftener misrepresented, it is indeed difficult 
even for innocence and integrity to avoid re- 
proach, abuse, contempt, and hatred. These 
not only hurt our interest, and impede our ad- 
vancement in life, but sorely afflict the feelings 
of a tender and delicate mind. It is, then, the 



ON A MERCANTILE LIFE, 23 

part of wisdom first to do every thing in our 
power to preserve an irreproachable character, 
and then to let our happiness depend chiefly on 
the approbation of our own consciences, and on 
the advancement of our interest in a world 
where liars shall not be believed, and where 
slanderers shall receive countenance from none 
but him who, in Greek, is called, by way of 
eminence, Diabolus, or the Calumniator. 



HINTS TO THOSE WHO ARE DESIGNED FOR A 
MERCANTILE LIFE. 

It is no wonder that many fail in their em- 
ployments and professions, when it is considered 
by what slender and childish motives they are 
often fixed in the pursuit which is to continue 
for life. One boy admires a red coat and a 
cockade, or a pair of trowsers and a jacket, and 
therefore he will be a soldier or a sailor. An- 
other thinks it cannot but be a perpetual source 
of happiness to live amongst a profusion of plums 
and sugar, and therefore he will be a grocer. 
An early and accidental association of ideas is 
formed, by which happiness is united with some 
peculiar mode of life ; and a choice is made be- 
fore reason or experience can possibly have sug- 
gested a cause for judicious preference. 

The choice of boys at an early age is cer- 
tainly too ill-founded to direct their parents in 
fixing their future mode of life. What success 
can be expected in a plan of conduct which 



24 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

originates in the whim of an infant ! A parent, 
therefore, must study the disposition of his child, 
and endeavour to conform it to that profession 
or trade to which he has the best opportunity 
of introducing him with advantage. The young 
mind may be moulded like wax, with a due 
degree of skill, to almost any figure. 

In a commercial Gountry like ours, where 
a great part of the commodities consumed by 
the people are imported, trade must of necessity 
constitute the employment of a large proportion 
of the people. I consider it, therefore, of very 
great consequence that particular instructions 
should be adapted to young persons, whose lives 
are to be spent in the engagements of com- 
merce. They are usually fixed at the desk 
and the counter at so early an age, as almost to 
exclude all instruction but that which relates 
to the confined views of one particular occupa- 
tion. Were I to offer advice to a young man 
intended for the commercial walk, 1 would ad- 
dress him in a manner somewhat similar to the 
following. It is impossible that what I say 
should be exactly accommodated to all circum- 
stances and situations; but yet it may suggest 
to all, such hints as are capable of improvement 
and particular application. 

"The wisdom of our English ancestors pre- 
scribed that seven years shall be spent in learn- 
ing the exercise of a trade or a mechanical art. 
This, like many other of their institutions which 
the vanity of the present age is apt to despise, 
is founded on substantial reasons. Supposing 



ON A MERCANTILE LIFE. 25 

you to begin at fourteen, seven years bring you 
to the age of twenty-one; a period at which, it 
is quite early enough to assume the liberty of 
manhood. Nor, indeed, can those habits be 
formed with certainty, which are to continue 
during life in a shorter space. 

" Seven years, however, it must be confessed, 
are a very considerable portion of life at any 
age, and particularly valuable in the vernal 
season, when the seeds of every amiable and 
useful quality are to be sown and cultivated. 
You will, therefore, be particularly careful to 
employ it in a constant application to useful 
pursuits. 

" The knowledge of your particular business 
will claim, after your moral and religious du- 
ties, your first and longest attention. Be not 
afraid of incurring among your companions the 
appellation of a dull cit or a spiritless plodder. 
Such names are usually the poor consolations 
of those who envy the happiness which must 
attend the propriety of your conduct. Proceed, 
therefore, in the regular performance of your 
duties, animated by the approbation of your own 
heart, and of your friends and superintendants, 
and despising that ridicule which originates 
only in malice, though it has been sufficiently 
powerful to ruin many. I need not inform you, 
that writing, arithmetic, book-keeping, and all 
the particular mysteries, as they are called, of 
your particular occupation, will leave you little 
time for inaction. The less, indeed, the better. 
Vice and misery are almost the certain conse- 



26 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

quences of your not knowing how to employ 
your time. Great cities, where commerce is 
chiefly carried on, abound with temptations, 
and few are found more frequently in the haunts 
of debauchery and dissipation than clerks and 
apprentices. 

" Since, however, it is impossible but that 
you should have some leisure, I very seriously 
recommend it to you to acquire a taste for good 
books; I say good books, for you may injure 
your mind, and ruin your fortune, by an indis- 
criminate and improper choice. The readers 
in your way of life seldom read any thing but 
novels, plays, and licentious productions of every 
species. Besides that these have a tendency to 
corrupt the morals of young men in general, 
they have usually an influence peculiarly hurt- 
ful on the mind of the young trader ; for they 
almost invariably represent the essential virtues 
of a trader, such as honesty, sobriety, punctu- 
ality, and industry, as contemptible and ridicu- 
lous. The very name and character of a trader, 
in plays and novels, are low and vulgar. The 
object held out as a model for imitation is usually 
some dissipated rake, who, with every vice and 
unfortunate failing which tends to make him- 
self miserable, and to break a parent's heart, is 
described as a fine fellow, worthy of universal 
love and admiration. 

" Let me entreat you to summon resolution 
enough to avoid such reading till your judgment 
is mature, your passions regulated, and your 
principles formed. If you have been fortunate 



ON A MERCANTILE LIFE. 27 

enough to have acquired a little knowledge of 
the classics at your school, preserve and improve 
it. Read and reflect upon the histories of 
Greece and Rome, and your own country. 
There are books of morality in the English 
language as full of entertainment for a mind 
unvitiated as any novel. 

" A taste for good books will have a happy 
influence on your temper, and will tend to se- 
cure your conduct, not only by filling up your 
time innocently, but by suggesting' to your 
mind wise rules and useful maxims. Good books 
will teach you to know yourself and your situ- 
ation, and to set a just value on those things 
which ignorant avarice and ambition pursue 
with restless avidity, and at the same time with 
little pure and solid enjoyment. They will en- 
large your views, and give you a liberality of 
sentiment and manners. If you attend solely 
to the means of getting money, your mind will 
gradually become narrow. You will consider 
money as the only good. Your eyes and your 
heart will be shut to all those other objects of 
delight with which the God of nature has pro- 
fusely furnished the residence of his favourite 
creature. This is an enlightened age ; and the 
man of fortune, but of illiberal mind, will be 
pitied, if not despised and neglected. He will 
find few associates but among those who are as 
vulgar as himself, and whose riches, if they 
possess riches, cannot render them respectable. 

" But moderation is necessary in that which 
is laudable ; and while I recommend to you an 



28 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

attention to letters, I must remind you that they 
are only to form your recreation, and not your 
business. Be contented with reading: beware 
of scribbling verses when you ought to be post- 
ing your accounts. A little applause bestowed 
on your rhymes may be your ruin. It may give 
your ambition a wrong object, and lead you 
astray, like the dancing vapour of a misty even- 
ing. Be cautious of raising your ideas above 
your situation. Dare to be what you really are ; 
and, if you think your situation and character 
require to be elevated and adorned, elevate and 
adorn them yourself by exemplary behaviour. 
If you wish to become respectable, you will 
succeed in your wish, by raising the sphere in 
which you are placed, but not by showing that 
you think it too humble for a person of your 
exalted ideas and noble way of thinking. 

* You must beware of entertaining too early 
the fatal affectation of shining as a fine gentle- 
man and a man of pleasure. To support these 
characters, supposing them consistent with in- 
nocence, a fund of money is absolutely neces- 
sary. Probably it can be procured only by im- 
portuning and offending a parent, by incurring 
debt, or by fraudulent practices ; each of which 
methods is almost a certain source of ruin and 
infamy. Add to this, that he who is always 
adorning his person, and frequenting theatres, 
assemblies, and public gardens, will be so over- 
run with folly and vanity, that no room will be 
left for the solid virtues of the sober citizen. 
His ambition will take a new turn. Before the 



ON A MERCANTILE LIFE. 29 

expiration of his apprenticeship, he will proba- 
bly grow sick of his trade, get an ensigncy, if 
his father can afford to purchase one, and if not, 
turn strolling player, and, at last, instead of 
becoming an alderman, or a respectable private 
citizen, degenerate to an infamous swindler, or 
become at last a beggar. 

" I consider the manner in which a Sunday 
is spent in a great city, by the young men who 
are trained to trade and merchandise, as a mat- 
ter of the highest consequence to their happi- 
ness. The master and mistress of the family 
are then usually at their country-house, or en- 
gaged in some rural excursion. There is no 
restraint, and no amusement at home. The 
apprentice or clerk is glad to make use of his 
liberty, and to fly from the solitude of a de- 
serted house. Parties of pleasure are formed ; 
improper and even vicious connexions made ; 
and the poor young man often dates his greatest 
misfortunes from that day, the institution of 
which was designed to increase the virtue and 
happiness of mankind. Sunday affords a fine 
opportunity for indulging an inclination for 
reading ; and I have no doubt, but that in a few 
hours spent in this decent and profitable manner, 
there would be more pleasure than in galloping 
about the country, or driving a curricle to some 
place of amusement. 

" I have been thus particular in suggesting 
advice to you for the conduct of an apprentice- 
ship, because good conduct during that danger 
ous period, is a very promising presage of future 



30 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

success. I make use of the word apprentice- 
ship, though I know that many are introduced 
to the superior houses of merchandise without 
the form of indentures, and without a limited 
term of preparation. But whatever time is 
spent in preparation, and whether it is spent at 
the counter or at the desk, the hints which I 
have thrown out may, I hope, be sometimes 
serviceable. If they save but one out of a thou- 
sand from ruin or injury, I shall be amply repaid 
for the trouble of my admonition. 

" I will add but one more rule, and that shall 
be a general one. Learn to place a due value 
on the plain and homely qualities of common 
honesty, punctuality, diligence, and economy. 
Were these pursued with half the ardour with 
which the graces are courted and the vices 
adopted, there would be fewer bankrupts than 
there are, notwithstanding the taxes. Bad times 
are, indeed, injurious to commerce, and so also 
are bad manners in the conductors of it. When 
both are combined in a remarkable degree, it 
is not to be wondered that there are complain- 
ings in our streets. 

" With a mind enlightened and enlarged by 
proper education, and a heart furnished with 
sound principles, if you have fair opportunities, 
you will not often fail. You will probably rise 
to that honourable character, a fair merchant, 
who has acquired opulence with unimpeached 
credit, and who is able to enjoy and adorn it 
with a noble liberality." 



COMMERCIAL DIGNITY/. • 31 



ON SUPPORTING THE DIGNITY OF THE COM- 
MERCIAL CHARACTER. 

In a country whose situation has rendered it 
naturally commercial, it is good policy to place 
the mercantile profession in an honourable 
light. It has not usually held a very high 
place in the esteem of the world ; because, in 
most countries, it has been disgraced by covet- 
ousness and circumvention. Its primary object, 
the accumulation of money, has never appeared 
with any peculiar lustre in the eyes of those 
who have seen the beauty of disinterested pa- 
triotism and heroic generosity. But, at the 
same time, it is certain that a mercantile life 
affords scope for the display of many good quali- 
ties, and of virtues which, from their sublime 
and difficult nature, may constitute the mer- 
chant a practical philosopher. It affords an 
ample field for the exercise of commutative 
justice, and of self-denial in refusing to take 
advantages which might be taken with secrecy. 
Large and extensive commerce, instead of nar- 
rowing, has enlarged the sentiments ; and Brit- 
ish and American merchants have, in the last 
two centuries, joined to the most exemplary 
integrity the most liberal beneficence. 

But it must be owned that mercantile men 
appeared most respectable when they least de- 
parted from their peculiar character. In the 
present age many of them have relinquished 
the simplicity of their ancestors, and, endea- 
vouring to import the airs and manners of a 



32 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

court into a counting-house, have lost much of 
their idependence and real dignity. 

It has been said, that, in order to preserve a 
political constitution in its original purity, it is 
necessary, at certain intervals, to reduce it to 
its primary principles. Deviation from right, 
and encroachment on error, are the natura" 
consequences of human infirmity, in the pro- 
gressive revolution of affairs. It is, therefore, 
as necessary in morals as in politics to return 
to principles and manners which have been in- 
sensibly forsaken in the pursuit of innovation ; 
and the manners of our predecessors in the 
mercantile line, which we now despise as sim- 
ple and unrefined, will be found, in many in- 
stances, more conducive to national and person- 
al happiness than many among the nominal 
improvements which have superseded their 
prevalence. 

I will not dwell on theoretical observations, 
but deduce my remarks from real life. I assert, 
then, that the merchants of the present times 
are often ashamed of the character of citizens. 
My proof is the fact that they desert the city. 
No sooner have they accumulated a competent 
sum, than the noble mansion in a venerable 
old street is forsaken for a smart house in a 
new-built square. The principal's presence is 
thus removed from the scene of action, and op- 
portunities are afforded for every species of 
idleness and fraud in the inferior substitutes. 
Habits are contracted, and intimacies formed in 
the new 7 region, most opposite to the spirit of 



COMMERCIAL DIGNITY. S3 

commerce. Late hours and irregular banquets 
are not at all conducive to that punctuality 
which constitutes one of the most valuable and 
ornamental qualities of a respectable merchant. 
Great and enormous wealth can, indeed, sup- 
port any species of folly ; but the misfortune is, 
that they who have their fortunes to make will 
emulate those who have already made them. 
To live at the next door to a millionaire, is a 
temptation scarcely resistible. Add to these 
solid satisfactions of the merchant himself, that 
the ladies of the family feel new degrees of 
gentility, like inspiration, gradually come upon 
them as they approach more nearly to the pur- 
lieus of the fashionable square. 

It was not thus that a Girard raised a fortune 
and a reputation equal to the most renowned 
personages of his time. It was by industry, 
temperance, regularity, close application, and 
by leaving those to follow fashion whose shal- 
low intellects could not find a worthier object 
to pursue. It would have been an ill exchange 
to have given up the title of the first merchant 
in America for the petty vanity of residing in 
the circle of fashion. 

I would advise the merchant, w T ho would live 
with real dignity, to make the city respectable, 
if he does not find it so, by displaying his worth 
in it. Worthy conduct, with a noble fortune, 
will aggrandize any place. Adorn that situa- 
tion in which it is your lot to be fixed. "Spar- 
tam quam nactus es, orna." Where, indeed, 
ought men to expend their opulence mors 



34 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

readily than where it was amassed, where 
their characters are known, and their virtues 
valued? 

Many evils result from this general emigra- 
tion from the counting-room. The influence 
of good example is lost among the numerous 
tribe of apprentices, clerks, and journeymen, 
who are the rising generation of merchants ; 
but whose morals are early tainted with the 
foulest infection, by running after those vanities 
and pleasures which their superintendant ap- 
pears so anxiously to pursue. They are led to 
despise the counting-room, and those manners 
which their master avoids as a place of con- 
tamination. 

A time has been, when merchants only re- 
tired to their villas when they had accumulated 
their fortunes. They now begin with a villa, 
as if it were as necessary as a warehouse; 
and end with bankruptcy as naturally, as unre- 
luctantly, and as unblushingly, as if it had been 
the honourable object of their mercantile pur- 
suit. Distress and difficulty excite meanness 
and artifice; fraud and injustice soon follow, 
and the dignity of the merchant is sunk in the 
scandalous appellation of a swindler. 

The fall of the eminent trader involves many 
in the misfortune. His wife and children are 
reduced from a life of splendour and luxury to 
indigence and obscurity ; to a state which they 
bear less patiently, because they have been ac- 
customed to indulge their vanity and pride 
without control. Vice, and every species of 



COMMERCIAL DIGNITY. 35 

misery, are increased by this imprudent con- 
duct in his own family, and poverty brought 
into the houses of his inferior assistants or de- 
pendants, who have either intrusted him with 
their money or their labour unrepaid. 

This is a picture drawn from life : what it 
represents often occurs ; and the whole of it is 
occasioned by the merchant's departure from 
his natural and his most becoming character. 

In order to resume that character, let him 
consider what virtues his department of life 
particularly requires. He will find them to be 
industry, honesty, and frugality. Let him se- 
siously pursue them, nor ever be ashamed of 
them. Let him not dread the appellation of a 
dull cit, nor any of those jokes with which the 
envy and malice of witlings console themselves 
on another's superiority. Let him assure him- 
self that the character of a man of integrity 
and benevolence is far more desirable than that 
of a man of pleasure or of fashion. The one 
is like solid gold, the other like tinsel ; the one 
is like a venerable oak, the other like the gaudy 
and transitory tulip; the one is always blest 
and a blessing, the other frequently a curse. 
Dare to be what you are, is a rule, which, if 
observed, would secure to men that happiness, 
of which the greater part never see any thing 
but the phantom ; embracing the cloud in the 
place of the goddess. 

The great cause of mercantile miscarriage 
is, that the merchant usually begins in a mode 
of life which should naturally adorn a success- 



SO THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ful conclusion. He begins, as it has been be- 
fore observed, with rural retreat, and with ex- 
pensive relaxation; with those pleasures which 
should, in the regular course, be reserved as 
the reward of his toils, and the comfort of his 
age, ut in otia recedent. He spends his active 
days in superfluous and unsatisfactory -indul- 
gence, and dooms the winter of life to want, to 
neglect, to a prison, or an alms-house. I be- 
lieve it is true, that at least as many bankrupts 
are made by some species of misconduct as by 
misfortune. 

In a country abounding with merchants, 
some of these hints may be thought useful, and 
be adopted by a few in the rising generation ; 
and the example of a few may in time be gene- 
rally followed, and constitute at last a prevail- 
ing mode of mercantile life. 



ON THE SELFISHNESS OF MEN OF THE WORLD. 

The professed students of the art of pleas- 
ing as taught in the Chesterfieldian system, 
usually possess some qualities which, when 
seen in their true light, and without the varnish 
of deceit, are peculiarly unpleasing and ex- 
tremely offensive. Indeed, the very motive 
which urges them to study this celebrated art 
is in itself most odious, as it consists of a desire 
to serve themselves alone, at the expense of 
every virtue connected with sincerity, and by 



FASHIONABLE SELFISHNESS. 37 

making those the dupes of their artifice whose 
honesty has rendered them no less unsuspecting 
than amiable. 

We all love ourselves, indeed, sufficiently 
well ; but he who labours indiscriminately to 
please by obsequiousness and plausibility every 
one with whom he converses, however para- 
doxical the assertion may appear, is usually of 
all men the most selfish. A sincerely good and 
benevolent man will study to serve and to 
please men in proportion as they may deserve his 
attention, and as they may be pleased and 
served consistently with truth and honesty. 
He will be the friend of individuals ; but always 
more a friend to truth than to any particular 
man. He will study to please where he can 
do it without deceit, and without meanly sacri- 
ficing the liberty of a man, and accommodating 
his own opinions to the opinions of any company 
to which chance may introduce him. But the 
mere man of this world has learned to consider 
truth and sincerity as words only ; such, indeed, 
as may, on some occasions, facilitate the practice 
of his art, but must never injure what is su- 
perior, in his idea, to all other considerations, 
his own interest. 

This sort of persons whom I now stigmatize, 
is skilled to assume the appearance of all vir- 
tues and all good qualities ; but their favourite 
mask is universal benevolence. And the reason 
why they prefer this disguise to all others is, 
that it tends most effectually to conceal its op- 
posite, which is, indeed, their true character, 



38 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

universal selfishness, or indifference to the hap- 
piness of all around them. 

It is a maxim with them, that, as there is no 
individual who may not, in the vicissitudes of 
human affairs, have an opportunity of serving 
or injuring them, there is none whose favour 
they ought not to court. They are, therefore, 
universally and indiscriminately affable and 
obliging. So condescending are they, that one 
would almost imagine them to be totally exempt 
from pride ; but after -they have treated you 
with the most insinuating familiarity, should 
you happen to meet them in the company of 
your superiors, it is probable they will not know 
you ; and if you venture to accost them, will 
beg the favour of your name. When they havo 
any boon to ask of you, or are accidentally in 
company where you happen to be the principal 
person, they admire, flatter, and show you all 
possible attention ; but meet them soon after- 
wards at a public place of resort, arm in arm 
with a great man, and they will pass close by 
and never see you. They either look straight 
forwards, or they are engaged in laughing at 
the great man's jest, or they really forget you. 
Whatever is the cause, their hats remain on 
their heads, and you endeavour to catch their 
eye in vain. You then begin to see that these 
prodigiously agreeable, affable, clever, obliging- 
gentlemen, are no more than mean, unprinci- 
pled, selfish sycophants and parasites. 

If you were to judge of them by their dress, 
appearance, equipage and conversation, you 



FASHIONABLE SELFISHNESS. 39 

would imagine these agreeable men to be gene- 
rous, as well as agreeable. But, in truth, their 
generosity extends only to themselves, and 
their expenses consist chiefly in providing mat- 
ters of external ostentation. These they find 
conducive to the great end in view, which is 
to attract notice, and make advantageous con- 
nexions. After all their boasts, they are usually 
hard and extortionate in their bargains with 
the honest tradesmen who supply necessaries ; 
They seldom hesitate at any mode of getting 
or saving money while it can be kept clandes- 
tine^ and, though they are profuse at a water- 
ing-place, they are often contemptibly penu- 
rious among their poor neighbours, and re- 
markably frugal at their own tables. They 
play at cards, at which they are great adepts, 
and therefore, prodigiously clever and agreeable 
men: but, though they declare the contrary, 
they play for gain rather than diversion. With 
all their vanity, love of show, love of pleasure, 
and love of -dissipation, they are also most pow- 
erfully actuated by the love of money. 

Self-regard, indeed, is evidently the princi- 
ple of all their conduct. They appear in their 
own eyes of vast magnitude, and consider the 
rest of mankind, as instruments, which they 
may manage with a little cunning, so as to ren- 
der them subservient to their own pleasures or 
their own profit. They do, indeed, too often 
succeed, and raise themselves to fortune and 
reputation by deluding the simple and incon- 
siderate. They are, therefore, often admired 



40 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

as truly wise, and not unfrequently pointed out 
as models for imitation. 

But I cannot help thinking, that however 
they are admired, and whatever success they 
may obtain, they are both despicable and un- 
happy. By servilely cringing to all, and espe- 
cially to the great, without in the least attend- 
ing to personal deserts and characters, they 
render themselves, in effect, absolute slaves, 
and their minds soon contract all the meanness 
and cowardice of slavery. Such meanness is 
certainly contemptible ; nor can I conceive 
that such slavery, with any fortune or connex- 
ions whatever, can by any means be capable of 
manly enjoyment. Liberty, independence, and 
a consciousness of having acted uprightly, will 
render a state of indigence sweet, and the want 
of them must embitter the envied blessings of 
rank and opulence. Providence has, indeed, 
so ordered it, for the sake of promoting the im- 
portant ends of society, that they who live to 
self-interest and self-love, exclusively of all 
social regards, should be disappointed in their 
purposes. Immoderate selfishness, like all other 
greedy dispositions, sacrifices the present for 
that future enjoyment which never comes to 
mortal man. But the selfishness of the mere 
man of the world has this aggravation, that it 
leads to the neglect of some of the most amia- 
ble virtues, and sometimes to the commission 
of crimes of the blackest dye. So that the 
character I have delineated is incompatible 
with a good conscience; and without a good 



HONESTY. 41 

conscience what a phantom is all human bliss ! 
After all the triumphs of worldly wisdom, and 
the contempt in which simplicity is held, I am 
convinced, that it is far better to be the de- 
ceived than the deceivers. 

At the same time, it is certainly right to warn 
young men of the deceits of the world, and 
teach them not rashly to believe those charac- 
ters the most excellent which appear the most 
specious and plausible. I would briefly advise 
them, whenever they see a man remarkably 
studious of external appearances, devoted to 
the graces of dress and address, pretending 
great friendship and regard for persons he never 
saw before, promising liberally, perpetually 
smiling, and always agreeable — to beware of 
counterfeits, for such are abroad. 



ON THE VALUE OF AN HONEST MAN. 

It is the folly and misfortune of human na- 
ture to prefer the present to the future, the 
agreeable to the useful, the shining to the solid. 
We admire wit, beauty, wealth, titles, and all 
that sparkles with the brilliancy of external 
lustre ; and though we probably approve the 
plain and homely virtues which form the found- 
ation of all real excellence, it is with the cold 
feelings of unimpassioned judgment. But, in 
youth, when our choice in life is usually fixed, 
we are much more disposed to pursue what we 
admire than what we only approve; and the 



42 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

consequence is, that the greater number form 
the earliest and most durable attachments to 
vanity. Sober maxims, rules of prudence, dic- 
tates of justice, plain truth, simplicity of man- 
ners, constancy in friendship, and regularity in 
business, appear with few charms in the eyes 
of him who pants for the noble distinctions of 
being remarked at public places for elegance 
of dress, admired for the most splendid vehicle, 
celebrated for his wit at a masquerade, smiled 
upon at court, and at length, perhaps, rewarded 
with a title, a riband, and a star. To obtain 
such bliss, far other qualifications are necessary 
than the antiquated virtues of one's grandfather. 
The business must be done by dress, address, 
and, in short, the graces, the graces, the graces ! 
With respect to honesty, I have somewhere 
read, that a man of honour, on hearing honesty 
attributed to his fashionable friend, expressed 
some degree of displeasure at the panegyric, 
and declared that such a compliment was only 
fit for his footman. Our first question concern- - 
ing a gentleman whose character we wish to 
learn, is seldom, Is he honest! but, Is he rich 1 
Is he a man of fashion, spirit, ton, or a bon vi- 
vant? 

Now there have been of late, and indeed at 
times, many men of fashion totally destitute of 
moral honesty. They have possessed every 
personal grace, and every pleasing accomplish- 
ment. They could sing, dance, and play on 
musical instruments. They could converse 
with the grave and the gay, and adapt all their 



HONESTY. 43 

sentiments to the present company. They had 
that freedom which is called charming, and 
which enabled them to push themselves into 
all companies, and accost men of rank and 
character by their surnames, and without any 
respectful addition. All this could not fail to 
excite the praise of the ladies, and the envy 
of the gentlemen. But in the end it has been, 
in several notorious instances, found that these 
charming men, with the appearance of whatever 
is good and agreeable, have been the first to 
overreach in a bargain, exceedingly successful 
in the profession of swindling, and particularly 
adroit at a forgery. 

So despicable and detestable do the charac- 
ters of such men appear on detection, that I 
cannot help thinking honesty is the best orna- 
ment, as well as the best policy. It is, indeed, 
a diamond of the first water; while all the 
showy, dazzling, unsubstantial qualities which 
the artful assume for the purposes of deceit, 
are no more than French paste, or paltry glass, 
at once both tawdry, brittle, and vile. 

I would recommend unfeigned honesty as 
ornamental ; because such is the present state 
of manners, it is infinitely more likely to be 
pursued and valued by the majority of man- 
kind, when they think it will conciliate the 
love and admiration of each other, than when 
they view it merely as a moral excellence. 
The man of reading, reflection, and a culti- 
vated mind, will want no motives to pursue it 
but those which are suggested by his own con- 



44 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

science and the delicacy of his sentiments. 
But to the mass of mankind, composed of all 
ages, all ranks, all tempers, all professions, all 
parties, and all religions, it is necessary to ren- 
der any particular virtue which the moralist 
wishes to promote, both lovely and honourable. 
Interest, passion, and fancy, must be taught, if 
possible, to second the decisions of reason. She 
is too often deposed by her refractory subjects, 
whose obedience, indeed, is seldom to be relied 
on, but when it is in some degree spontaneous. 

It cannot surely be denied, that the quality 
which pervades every part of human life, and 
tends immediately to render it secure, comfort- 
able, and honourable, which can be possessed 
by a human creature ; and such is that uncele- 
brated virtue, plain unassuming moral honesty. 
Without it, society is a den of thieves, and 
men are to each other wolves and foxes. 

Every day's experience evinces the justness 
of that representation in the Scriptures, in 
which it is said, that the heart is deceitful above 
all things, who can know it 1 In the most trifling 
intercourse, where neither pleasure nor profit 
is in view, the propensity to deceit appears in 
the little promises, professions, compliments, 
which are mutually made, usually without any 
sincerity of regard, and often with real and 
inveterate aversion. But where interest is in 
view, the machinations made use of for the ac- 
complishment of mean and mercenary purposes 
are often such as might characterize an infernal 
agent. Plausibility is, at the same time, worn 



HONESTY. 45 

as a cloak ; and he who has a design on your 
purse, your life, or your country, will assume 
all the appearance of cordial friendship and un- 
polluted honour. It is well known, that the 
graces, the agreeable qualities, as they are 
called, and the appearance of the most amiable 
virtues, have been possessed in perfection by 
men who finished their lives with ignominy as 
victims of the law. 

Indeed, this common honesty, as it is named, 
is far less common than our pride is willing to 
suppose ; but if it could be introduced into all 
the employments of life, the golden age would 
be restored. 

Happy state ! but, alas, it is imaginary ! It 
might, however, I am convinced, in some de- 
gree be realized, if due care were taken in 
education to render the least tendency to deceit 
disgraceful and obnoxious to punishment ; and 
every ingenuous, open, honest action honour- 
able ; for honour is the nurse of the virtues, as 
well as of the arts. Instead of which, the 
writings of some modern instructors tend im- 
mediately to recommend every species of de- 
ceit at that early age, when a little evil sown 
in the bosom by the tutor, cannot fail to take 
root, and grow to a stupendous magnitude. 

Early and late, by night and by day, in sea- 
son and out of season, as the Scripture strongly 
expresses it, I would inculcate in the breast of 
young men the just remark of the moral poet, 
that an honest man is the noblest work of God, 



46 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ON THE INFLUENCE OF FASHION. 

They who are exempted by their elevated 
condition from the confinement of commercial 
and professional life, involve themselves in vol- 
untary slavery by engaging in the service of 
the tyrant, Fashion. They are compelled to ab- 
stain from actions in themselves pleasing and 
innocent, however strong their inclination to 
them, because the caprice of some distinguished 
character has prohibited them by his example. 
Like the dullest of animals, they are driven 
round the same circle, from which once to de- 
viate would subject them to an appellation of 
all others the most formidable. To be called 
profligate, extravagant, intemperate, or even 
wicked, might be tolerated with patience ; but 
who could bear to live with the epithet of un- 
genteel ? 

People of fashion, once admitted to this honour- 
able title, form a little world of their own, and 
learn to look down upon all others as beings of 
a subordinate nature. It is, then, a natural 
question, In what does this superiority consist 1 
It arises not from learning; for the most illite- 
rate claim it, and are indulged in the claim : 
it arises not from virtue ; for the most vicious 
are not excluded. Wealth, beauty, birth, and 
elegance, are not the only qualifications for it; 
because many enjoy it who have no just pre- 
tension to either, and many are denied it who 
possess them all. It seems to be a combina- 
tion of numbers under two or three leaders in 



THE INFLUENCE OF FASHION. 47 

high life, who agree to imitate each other, and 
to maintain, by the majority of voices and the 
effrontery of pride, that all they do is proper, 
and all they say is sensible ; that their dress is 
becoming, their manners polite, their houses 
tasteful, their furniture, their carriages, all 
that appertains to them, the models and stand- 
ards of real beauty. Those who come not 
within the pale of their jurisdiction they con- 
demn, with papal authority, to perpetual insig- 
nificance. They stigmatize them, in the aggre- 
gate, as people whom nobody knows, as the 
scum of the earth, as born only to minister to 
their pride, and to supply the wants of their 
luxury. 

Groundless as are the pretensions of this con- 
federacy, no pains are avoided to become an 
adopted member. For this, the stripling squan- 
ders his patrimony, and destroys his constitution. 
For this, the virgin bloom of innocence and 
beauty is withered at the vigils of the card- 
table. For this, the loss of integrity, and pub- 
lic infamy, are willingly incurred ; and it is 
agreed by many, that it were better to go out 
of the world, than to live in it and be unfashion- 
able. 

If this distinction be really valuable, and if 
the happiness or misery of life depend upon ob- 
taining or losing it, then are the thousands who 
walk the private paths of life objects of the 
sincerest pity. Some consolation must be de- 
vised for the greater part of the community, 
who have never breathed the atmosphere of 



48 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

fashion, nor embarrassed their fortunes, nor 
ruined their health, in pursuit of this glorious 
elevation. Perhaps on an impartial review it 
will appear, that these are really possessed of 
that happiness which vanity would arrogate to 
itself, and yet only seems to obtain. 

The middle ranks of mankind are the most 
virtuous, the best accomplished, and the most 
capable of enjoying the pleasures and advan- 
tages which fall to the lot of human nature. It is 
not the least of these, that they are free from 
the necessity of attending to those formalities 
which engross the attention and waste the time 
of the higher classes, without any adequate re- 
turn of solid satisfaction. Horace, who was far 
less illustrious by his birth and station than by 
his elegance of manners, was wont to congra- 
tulate himself, that he could ride on a little 
mule to the remotest town in Italy without 
ridicule or molestation ; while his patrons could 
hardly move a step but with the unwieldy 
pomp of an equipage and retinue. The single 
article of dress, which, when splendid, requires 
the labour and attention of many hours, becomes 
a wretched task to those who wish to employ 
their time with honour, with improvement, with 
pleasure, and the possibility of a satisfactory 
retrospection. 

Visits of form, of which every one complains, 
yet to which every one in some measure sub- 
mits, are absolutely necessary to keep up the 
union of the fashionable confederacy. The more 
numerous, the more honourable. To be per- 



THE INFLUENCE OF FASHION. 49 

rnitted to spend five minutes, or to leave a card 
at the houses of half the inhabitants of Ihe po- 
liter streets, is a felicity which compensates all 
the trouble of attendance and tedious prepara- 
tion. To behold a train of coaches crowding 
to their door, to hear the f eliminations of a skil- 
ful footman, are joys of which the inhabitants 
of a rural retreat have little conception, but 
which delightfully affect the fine feelings of 
those who are made of purer clay, and honoured 
with the name of fashionable. 

From this severe persecution the man who 
aspires not at such honours is happily free. He 
visits his friend and neighbour because he feels 
friendly sentiments for him, and is received 
with cordiality. The intervals of company he 
can devote to study, and to the pursuit of busi- 
ness and amusement; for his communications 
with his friends require not the long, tedious, 
preparatory trouble of fashionable formality. 
In the unreserved pleasures of conversation, he 
looks with reciprocal pity on formal visitors of 
the squares in the metropolis, nor envies those 
who knock at a hundred doors in an evening, 
and who possess the glorious privilege of sitting 
half an hour in the company of those who 
must speak, and look, and move by rule without 
reason. 

The effects of fashion constitute, in the mo- 
ral world, very wonderful phenomena. Fashion 
can transform deformity to beauty, and beauty 
to deformity. When we view the dresses in a 
picture-gallery, we are tempted to ridicule the 
4 



50 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

shocking taste of our grandfathers and grand- 
mothers ; and yet there is not the least doubt 
but that they appeared beautiful and becoming 
when they were worn, and that the garb of the 
spectator who now censures them, would have 
been then equally ridiculous. During the short 
period of a life, the fluctuations of taste in dress 
are strikingly remarkable. A small buckle, or a . 
large buckle, a short coat or a long coat, a high 
or a low head-dress, appear in their turns, in 
the course of only a few years, laughably ab- 
surd. Manners, books, poetry, painting, build- 
ing, gardening, undergo a similar alteration. 
The prevailing taste is at the time supposed to 
be the perfect taste : a few years revolve, and 
it is exploded as monstrous. A new one is 
adopted ; that also is soon despised : and the 
old one in the capricious vicissitudes of the in- 
novating spirit, is once more revived, to repeat 
its revolution. 

There is certainly a standard of rectitude in 
manners, decorum, and taste; but it is more 
easily discovered than preserved. The vanity 
of the great and opulent will ever be effecting 
new modes, in order to increase that notice to 
which it thinks itself exclusively entitled. The 
lower ranks will imitate them as soon as they 
have discovered the innovation. — Whether 
right or wrong, beautiful or deformed, in the 
essential nature of things, it is of little moment. 
The pattern is set by a superior; and authority 
will at any time countenance absurdity. A hat, 
<a coat, a shoe, deemed fit to be worn only by a " 



THE INFLUENCE OP FASHION. 5l 

great-grandsire, is no sooner put on by a dicta- 
tor of fashions, than it becomes graceful in the 
extreme, and is generally adopted from the 
highest to the lowest. 

It must be allowed, indeed, that while 
Fashion exerts her arbitrary power in matters 
which tend not to the corruption of morals, or 
of taste in the fine arts, she may be suffered to 
exercise her wayward fancy without limitation. 
But the misfortune is, that, like other potent- 
ates, she will encroach on provinces where her 
jurisdiction is usurped. The variations she is 
continually introducing in dress are of service 
in promoting commerce. The whims of the 
rich feed the poor. The variety and the rest- 
lessness caused by changes in the modes of 
external embellishment, contribute to please 
and employ those whose luxurious indolence 
and personal insignificance prevent them from 
finding more manly objects and more rational 
entertainment. But when the same caprice 
which gives law to the wardrobe extends itself 
to the library ; when the legislature of an as- 
sembly dictates in the schools, regulates reli- 
gion, and directs education, it is time that reason 
should vindicate her rights against the encroach- 
ments of folly. 

Yet so fascinating is the influence of general 
example, that many who possess reason in an 
improved state are known to follow fashion 
with blind obedience. The scholar and the 
philosopher are hurried away with the rapidity 
of the torrent. To stand singular, is to present 



52 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

a mark for the shafts of scorn and malevolence. 
For the sake of ease, therefore, men are in- 
duced to join the throng, which they must re- 
sist without success, but not without receiving 
injury in the conflict. Compliance is thought 
wisdom, where opposition is likely to be ineffi- 
cacious, and sure to give offence. 

With respect to the distinction claimed by 
people of fashion, it is certain that they who 
are elevated by station, fortune, and a corres- 
pondent education, are often distinguished by 
a peculiar elegance of manners resulting from 
their education and society. But this ought 
not to inspire pride, or teach them to separate 
from the rest of mankind. It should give them 
a spirit of benevolence, and lead them to pro- 
mote the happiness of others, in return for the 
bountiful goodness of Providence in bestowing 
on them superior advantages, without any origin- 
al or natural merit of their own. They should 
endeavour to convince themselves, that the 
warmest philanthropist is the truest gentleman, 
and that the most becoming fashion is to do all 
the good they can to individuals and to their 
country. 



A SHORT SYSTEM OF VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS. 

I will suppose a virtuous young man forming 
in his mind the principles of his future conduct, 
and uttering the result of his reflections in the 
following soliloquy : — 

"At the age when I am approaching to ma- 



A SYSTEM OF VIRTUE. 53 

turity of reason, I perceive myself placed in a 
world abounding with external objects ; and I 
also perceive within me faculties and passions 
formed to be powerfully excited and affected by 
them. I am naturally tempted to interrogate 
myself, What am I? whence came I] and 
whither am I going ] 

" With a view to satisfy my own inquiries, I 
consider others who appear to be just like my- 
self; I listen to the instruction of those who 
have obtained a reputation for wisdom ; and I 
examine, with serious attention, the volumes 
in which are written the words of the wise. 

" The result of the whole inquiry is a sincere 
conviction that I am placed here to perform 
many duties ; that I originate from a supreme 
Creator ; and that I am going on in the jour- 
ney of life, to accomplish some of his gracious 
purposes at the close of it, as well as in its 
progress* 

" I divide my duty into three parts, according 
to the suggestions of my own reason and the 
instruction of books. They consist of the obli- 
gations which I owe to myself, to others, and 
to Him in whose hands are both they and I, the 
great Lord of the universe. 

" With respect to myself, as I consist of two 
parts, a body and a mind, my duty to myself 
again separates itself into two correspondent 
subdivisions. My body is a machine curiously 
organized, and easily deranged by excess and 
irregularity. When disturbed in its economy, 
it subjects me to pain, and disables me from all 



54 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

necessary and pleasant exertion. I owe it, 
therefore, to myself, to taste the cup, and par- 
take the banquet, and gratify all my senses, no 
farther than those limits which are obviously 
prescribed by reason and experience. I farther 
learn from the religion of my country, that my 
body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. Viewed 
in this light, to pollute it with sensual sin, can- 
not but be blasphemy ; to devote myself, then, 
to gluttony, drunkenness, and debauchery, is 
at once to deaden the growing energies of 
spiritual life, and to weaken and destroy the 
subordinate yet necessary parts of me, my ani- 
mal and material fabric; it is to shorten life, 
and to disable me from performing the duties 
of life, while life continues. 

" But I have a mind as well as a body, a mind 
capable of rising to high improvements by 
culture, and of sinking to a brutal stupidity by 
neglect. I will make use of all the advan- 
tages of education. I will devote my hours of 
leisure to reading and reflection. Elegant let- 
ters, as well as useful science, shall claim my 
attention ; for all that tends to polish the mind, 
tends also to sweeten the temper, and to miti- 
gate the remains of natural ferocity. 

" My mind, as well as my body, is greatly 
concerned in avoiding intemperance. Eating 
to excess clouds its brightness, blunts its edge, 
and drags it down to all the grossness of a ma- 
terial substance. Intemperate drinking not 
only reduces it at the time of its immediate in- 
fluence to a state of brutality, but gradually 



A SYSTEM OF VIRTUE, 55 

destroys its vigour. The sensual indulgences, 
in general, when they are inordinate and ex- 
cessive, debase, corrupt, and brutalize the ra- 
tional soul. Their delights are transient, their 
pains severe, and of long duration, 

" Instead, then, of running into the danger 
of temptation during the ardour of my youth, 
I will fly from the conflict in which my own 
passions are sure to fight against me, and will 
probably betray me to the enemy. I see, indeed, 
thousands pursuing pleasure, and professing to 
have found it in perfection in the haunts of de- 
bauchery. But I see them but for a little while. 
Like the silly insect that flutters with delight 
around the taper, they soon receive some fatal 
injury in their minds, their persons, or their 
fortunes, and drop in irrecoverable ruin. I am 
too much inclined to vice, from the depravity 
of my nature, and the violence of my passions. 
I will not add fuel to the fire, nor increase the 
violence of that natural tempest within me, 
which of itself is sufficient to accomplish my 
destruction. 

"But, at the same time, I will not be a 
cynic. — The world abounds with innocent 
enjoyments. The kind God of nature, it is 
evident, from their existence, and from the ca- 
pacities I possess, intended that I should taste 
them. But moderation is essential to true plea- 
sure. My own experience, and the experience 
of mankind from their origin, has declared that 
whenever pleasure exceeds the bounds of mo- 
deration, it is not only highly injurious, but 



56 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

soon becomes disgustful. In order to enjoy 
pleasure, I see the necessity of pursuing some 
business with attention. The vicissitude is ne- 
cessary to excite an appetite and give a relish. 
Nay, the very performance of creditable and 
useful business, with skill and success, is at- 
tended with a delightful satisfaction, which 
few of the most boasted pleasures are able to 
confer. 

" While I take care of myself, of my health, 
of my improvement in morals and understand- 
ing, I will not harbour pride, or look down with 
superciliousness or ill-nature on those who live, 
as it were, at random, and who acknowledge 
no other guide for their conduct but the sudden 
impulse of a temporary inclination. With all 
my improvements and endeavours, I shall still 
feel imperfections enough to humble me. Can- 
dour and humility are some of the least fallible 
marks of sound sense and sincere virtue. I 
shall have sufficient employment in correcting 
myself; nor shall I presume to censure others, 
unless my profession or relative situation ren- 
ders it my duty. 

" My duty to myself is, indeed, intimately 
connected with my duty to others. By preserv- 
ing the faculties of my mind and body, and by 
improving them to the utmost, I am enabled 
to exert them with effect in the service of so- 
ciety. 

" I am connected with others by the ties of 
consanguinity and friendship, and by the com- 
mon bond of partaking in the same humanity. 



A SYSTEM OF VIRTUE. 57 

As a son, I shall be tender and dutiful ; as a 
brother, zealously and uniformly kind; as a 
husbaud, faithful, tender, and affectionate ; as a 
father, gentle and provident ; as a man, bene- 
volent to men in whatever circumstances, and 
however separated from me by country, religion, 
or government. 

" But universal benevolence must not be an 
inactive principle. If it proceed not to real 
beneficence, from sentiment to actions, I fear 
it will have more in it of ostentation than of 
sincerity. I will, then, prove its sincerity by 
doing good, and removing evil of every kind, 
as far as my abilities allow me, as my influence 
extends, and opportunities are offered. 

" But before I pretend to generosity, I will 
be strictly just. Truth shall regulate my words, 
and equity my actions. If I am engaged in a 
profession, I will do the duties of it; if in mer- 
chandise, I will take no advantage of the igno- 
rant, nor debase my character, nor wound my 
conscience, for the sake of lucre. In all my 
intercourse with society, I will recollect that 
heavenly precept, of doing to others as I wish 
they should do to me, and will endeavour to 
obey it. I may, I certainly shall, offend from 
the violence of my passions, the weakness of 
my judgment, the perverseness of my will, and 
from mistake and misapprehension. But while 
I keep the evangelical rule in view, and sin- 
cerely labour to conform to it, I shall seldom 
commit such offences against others as will be 
either permanently or deeply injurious. 



58 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

"With respect to my duty to my Creator, I 
derive an argument in favour of religion from 
the feelings of my own bosom, superior to the 
most elaborate subtleties of human ingenuity. 
In the hour of distress, my heart as naturally 
flies for succour to the Deity, as, when hungry 
and thirsty, I seek food and water, or, when 
weary, repose. In religion I look for comfort, 
and in religion I always find it. Devotion sup- 
plies me with a pure and exalted pleasure. It 
elevates my soul, and teaches me to look down 
with a proper contempt upon many objects 
which are eagerly sought, but which end in 
misery. In this respect, and in many others, 
it effects, in the best and most compendious 
method, what has been in vain pretended to by 
proud philosophy. 

" And in selecting a mode or peculiar system 
of religion, I shall consider what that was in 
which my father lived and died. I find it to 
have been the religion of Christ. I examine it 
with reverence. I encounter many difficulties; 
but, at the same time, I feel within me an in- 
ternal evidence, which, uniting its force with 
the external, forbids me to disbelieve. When 
involuntary doubts arise, I immediately silence 
their importunity by recollecting the weakness 
of my judgment, and the vain presumption of 
hastily deciding on the most important of all 
subjects, against such powerful evidence, arid 
against the major part of the best and wisest 
men, in regions of the earth the most illumi- 
nated. 



A SYSTEM OF VIRTUE. 5U 

"I will learn humility of the humble Jesus, 
and gratefully accept the beneficial doctrines 
and glorious offers which his benign religion 
reaches out to all who sincerely seek him by 
prayer and penitence. 

"In vain shall the conceited philosophers, 
whom fashion and ignorance admire, attempt 
to weaken my belief, or undermine the princi- 
ples of my morality. Without their aid, I can 
be sufficiently wicked, and sufficiently misera- 
ble. Human life abounds with evil. I will 
seek balsams for the wounds of the heart in the 
sweets of innocence, and in the consolations of 
religion. Virtue, I am convinced, is the noblest 
ornament of humanity, and the source of the 
sublimest and the sweetest pleasure ; und piety 
leads to that peace, which the world, and all 
that it possesses, cannot bestow. Let others 
enjoy the pride and pleasure of being called 
philosophers, deists, sceptics ; be mine the real, 
unostentatious qualities of the honest, humble, 
and charitable Christian. When the gaudy 
glories of fashion and of vain philosophy shall 
have withered like a short-lived flower, sincere 
piety and moral honesty shall flourish as the 
cedar of Lebanon. 

" But I repress my triumphs. After all my 
improvements, and all my desires of perfection, 
I shall still be greatly defective. Therefore, to 
whatever degree of excellence I advance, let 
me never forget to show to others that indul- 
gence, which my infirmities, my errors, and 



60 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

my voluntary misconduct, will require both 
from them and from mine and their Almighty 
and most Merciful Father." 



THE PECULIAR PROPRIETY OF EXCITING PER- 
SONAL MERIT AND MANLY VIRTUE IN A 
TIME OF PUBLIC DISTRESS AND DIFFICULTY. 

The dignity and rational happiness of human 
nature are always proportionate to its real im- 
provements. Moral instruction can never be 
superfluous or unseasonable ; for human virtue, 
like the stone of Sisyphus, has a continual ten- 
dency to roll down the hill, and requires to be 
forced up again by the never-ceasing efforts 
of succeeding moralists and divines. 

But with respect to the influence of virtue 
on the prosperity of a state, it is certain that 
emergencies arise, when extraordinary degrees 
of it, throughout the whole body of the people, 
are peculiarly necessary. National adversity, 
like adversity in private life, prohibits the in- 
dulgence of a supine indolence, and calls for 
the most energetic activity. Virtues which 
have lain dormant, like arms in the arsenal, 
during the soft season of peace and plenty, 
must be brought forth to be, if I may so express 
it, brightened and sharpened in the day of dan- 
ger and distress. And, perhaps, no time can 
demand them more loudly than when the nation 
is engaged in war with formidable powers, and 
weakened by internal corruption. 



POLITICAL ADVANTAGE OF VXHTUE. 61 

The strength of empire consists in the spirit 
of its members, and not altogether in its posses- 
sions and pecuniary resources. But how is that 
spirit to be roused or properly directed ! The 
understanding must be enlightened, the ideas 
elevated, the heart enlarged. Ignorance, ava- 
rice, and luxury, render men indifferent under 
what form of government, or in what state of 
society, they live. They superinduce a weak- 
ness and a meanness, which, for the sake of 
sensual gratification or sordid interest, rejoice 
in submitting to the sceptre of tyranny. 

Liberty, without which we might almost 
venture to repine at our existence as an use- 
less and a baneful gift of God, cannot be under- 
stood or valued, and consequently will not be 
duly supported, without a competent share of 
improvement, moral and intellectual. The vain, 
the vicious, and the mercenary, seldom extend 
their cares beyond themselves; and the poor 
plebeian, though he may vociferate the word 
Liberty, knows not how to give it an effect- 
ual support. What avails empty breath when 
opposed to the bayonet or the bullet of a des- 
potical invader] Nothing but a steady, firm, 
systematic, and unshaken opposition to the en- 
croachments of those to whom fortune has given 
power, and nature an inclination to abuse it, 
can secure those blessings to our children, for 
which a Hampden and a Sydney bled. The 
glorious liberties of Americans, such as the 
right of trial by juries, a participation of the 
legislature, the freedom of the press, and the 



62 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

privilege of speaking, acting, and thinking, 
without arbitrary control, are such as to render 
our country, in comparison with some European 
nations, a terrestrial paradise; but yet they 
are advantages too remote to affect the sensual 
and self-interested, and too complicated to be 
completely understood, or rationally. valued, by 
a gross and uncultivated understanding. 

I venture, then, to assert, that the writer 
who effectually recommends pure morals, manly 
virtues, and the culture of the intellectual pow- 
ers, by a liberal and virtuous education, not 
only serves the cause of learning, morality, . 
and religion, but effects political good of a 
species the most permanent and substantial. 
Kis labours tend to advance the members of 
his society to all the perfection of which hu- 
manity is susceptible. He enlightens their 
understandings, that they may see the great 
and solid objects of public good; and he em-. 
boldens their hearts to pursue it like men — like 
men, not such as grovel on the earth in modern 
Greece and modern Italy, in Asia, Africa, South 
America; but such as opposed a Xerxes in the 
straits of Thermopylae, waged war with a Philip, 
or put an end to the ambition of a Tarquin and 
a Csesar. 

The generous love of liberty which warmed 
the bosom of a Hampden and a Sydney, was 
not the mean offspring of envy or malice, nor 
of a proud and peevish opposition to the ruling 
powers, whatever they might be; but it was 
acquired in the schools of rigid discipline and 



POLITICAL ADVANTAGE OF VIRTUE. 63 

sublime philosophy. It was accompanied with 
singular gravity of manners, and dignity of sen- 
timent. Now, let us suppose a nation, in which 
those who have most influence in its govern- 
ment are become, through a general and fash- 
ionable depravity, addicted to sordid interest, to 
luxury, to vanity, to servility for the sake of 
emolument; can any thing like the virtue of 
Leonidas or Brutus subsist in such men ] Will 
they, in an extremity, be ready to sacrifice for 
the public their estates, their places, their pen- 
sions, their expectations, which furnish them 
with their chief good, — selfish gratifications, 
the indulgence of voluptuousness or pride ? — 
Will they not rather rejoice to be dependent 
on a court, which is able to gratify their vanity, 
supply their pleasures, and reward their mean- 
est submission] 

From the most impartial review of history, 
and from considerations on the nature of man, I 
am convinced, that good morals and intellectual 
improvement are necessary to the existence of 
civil liberty and to the continuance of national 
prosperity. At a time, then, when both liberty 
and prosperity are endangered, exhortations to 
virtue, and every excellence at which an in- 
genuous nature can aspire, are peculiarly sea- 
sonable. They brace the nerves and sinews of 
the body politic, and enable it to lift its arm in 
self-defence with irresistible vigour. They add 
strength to the foundation of empire, so that the 
assaults of united nations shall not shake the 
noble fabric. 



64 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

In this view, and under these circumstances, 
I cannot help thinking that even my lucubra- 
tions may be in some measure useful to my 
countrymen. It has been my invariable object 
to enlighten their understandings, to exalt and 
improve their nature, to ascertain and vindicate 
their rights as men and as members of a society, 
and to teach them to pay no implicit submission 
but to truth, reason, law, their conscience, and 
their God. 



ON THE PROPRIETY OF ADORNING LIFE, AND 
SERVING SOCIETY, BY LAUDABLE EXERTION. 

In an age of opulence and luxury, when the 
native powers of the mind are weakened by 
vice, and general habits of indolence are super- 
induced by general indulgence, the moralist 
can seldom expect to see examples of that 
unwearied perseverance, of that noble and dis- 
interested exertion, which has sometimes ap- 
peared in the world, and has been called heroic 
virtue. Indeed, it must be allowed, that in the 
early periods of society there is greater occa- 
sion, as well as greater scope, for this exalted 
species of public spirit, than when all its. real 
wants are supplied, and all its securities estab- 
lished, and the minds of men are enervated by 
luxury. 

Under these disadvantages there is, indeed, 
little opportunity for that uncommon heroism 
which leads an individual to desert his sphere, 



PROPRIETY OF LAUDABLE EXERTION. 65 

and to act in contradiction to the maxims of per- 
sonal interest and safety, with a view to reform 
the manners, or to promote the honour and ad- 
vantage of the community. Patriotism, as it 
was understood and practised by a Brutus, a 
Curtius, a Scsevola, or a Socrates, appears in 
modern times so eccentric a virtue, and abhor- 
rent from the dictates of common sense, that he 
who should imitate it would draw upon him- 
self the ridicule of mankind, and incur the dan- 
ger of being stigmatized as a madman. Moral 
and political heroism would now appear in 
scarcely a less ludicrous light than the extrav- 
agancies of knight-errantry. 

But to do good in an effectual and extensive 
manner within the limits of professional influ- 
ence, and by performing the business of a sta- 
tion, whatever it may be, not only with regular 
fidelity, but with warm and active diligence, is 
in the power, as it is the duty, of every indi- 
vidual who possesses the use of his faculties in 
a state of independence. It is surely an unsatis- 
factory idea to live and die without pursuing 
any other purpose than the low one of sensual 
gratification. A thousand pleasures and advan- 
tages we have received from the disinterested 
efforts of those who have gone before us ; and 
it is incumbent on every generation to do some- 
thing not only for the benefit of contemporaries, 
but of those also who are to follow. 

To be born, as Horace says, merely to con- 
sume the fruits of the earth; to live, as Juvenal 
observes of some of his countrymen, with no 
5 



66 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

other purpose than to gratify the palate, though 
they may in reality be the sole ends of many, 
are yet too inglorious and disgraceful to be 
avowed by the basest and meanest of mankind. 

There is, however, little doubt but that many 
whose lives have glided away in an useless 
tenour, would have been glad of opportunities, 
if they could have discovered them, for heroic 
exertion. It is certainly true, that to qualify 
for great and extraordinary, whether political, 
military, literary, or patriotic efforts, peculiar 
preparations, accomplishments, occasions, and 
fortuitous contingencies, are necessary. Civil 
wisdom without civil employment, valour with- 
out an enemy, learning without opportunities 
for its display, the love of our country without 
power, must terminate in abortive wishes, in 
designs merely chimerical. They who project 
great schemes, and perform great exploits, must 
of necessity be few. But the exertions which 
Christian charity points out are extended to 
a great compass, are infinitely varied in kind 
and degree, and consequently adapted, in some 
mode or other, to the ability of every indi- 
vidual. 

To the distinguished honour of our times and 
of our country, it must be asserted, that there 
is no species of distress admitting alleviation 
which is not relieved ; no charitable institution 
which is not encouraged with an emulative 
ardour of liberality. No sooner is a proper 
object of beneficence presented to the public 
view, than subscriptions are raised by all ranks 



PROPRIETY OF LAUDABLE EXERTION. 67 

who crowd with impatience to the contribution. 
From the accumulated efforts of a community 
of philanthropists, a sum of good is produced, 
far greater than any recorded of the heroes of 
antiquity, from Bacchus down to Csesar. 

The motive of praise, though by no means 
the best, is a generous and powerful motive of 
all commendable conduct. He would do an 
injury to mankind who should stifle the love 
of fame. It has burnt with strong and steady 
heat in the bosoms of the most ingenuous. It 
has inspired enthusiasm in the cause of all that 
is good and great. Where patience must have 
failed, and perseverance been wearied, it has 
urged through troubles deemed impracticable, 
and stimulated through difficulties dreaded as in- 
surmountable. Pain, penury, danger, and death, 
have been cheerfully incurred in the service of 
mankind, with the expectation of no other re- 
compense than an honourable distinction. And 
let not the frigidity of philosophical rigour damp 
this noble ardour, which excites delightful sen- 
sations in the heart that harbours it, and gives 
rise to all that is sublime in life and in the arts. 
When we are so far refined and subdued as to 
act merely from the slow suggestions of the 
reasoning faculty, we shall indeed seldom be 
involved in error; but we shall as seldom 
achieve any glorious enterprise, or snatch a 
virtue beyond the reach of prudence. 

The spirit of adventure in literary undertak- 
ings, as well as in politics and commerce, must 
not be discouraged. If it produces that which 



68 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

is worth little notice, neglect is easy. There 
is a great probability, however, that it will 
often exhibit something conducive to pleasure 
and improvement. But when every new at- 
tempt is checked by severity, or neglected 
without examination, learning stagnates, and 
the mind is depressed, till its productions so far 
degenerate as to justify disregard. Taste and 
literature are never long stationary. When they 
cease to advance, they become retrograde. 

Every liberal attempt to give a liberal enter- 
tainment is entitled to a kind excuse, though 
its execution should not have a claim to praise. 
For the sake of encouraging subsequent endea- 
vours, lenity should be displayed where there 
is no appearance of incorrigible stupidity, of as- 
suming ignorance, and of empty self-conceit. 
Severity chills the opening powers, as the frost 
nips the bud that would else have been a blos- 
som. It is blamable moroseness to censure 
those who sincerely mean to please, and fail 
only from causes not in their own disposal. 

The praise, however, of well-meaning has 
usually been allowed with a facility of conces- 
sion which leads to suspect that it was thought 
of little value. It has also been received with 
apparent mortification. This surely is the result 
of a perverted judgment; for intention is in the 
power of every man, though none can command 
ability. 



VIRTUE CONSISTENT WITH POLITENESS. t>\) 

RELIGIOUS AND MORAL PRINCIPLES NOT ONLY 
CONSISTENT WITH, BUT PROMOTIVE OF, TRUE 
POLITENESS AND THE ART OF PLEASING. 

A philosopher who, in the austerity of his 
virtue, should condemn the art of pleasing as 
unworthy cultivation, would deserve little at- 
tention from mankind, and might be dismissed 
to his solitary tub, like his brother Diogenes. 
It is, indeed, the dictate of humanity, that we 
should endeavour to render ourselves agreeable 
to those in whose company we are destined to 
travel in the journey of life. It is our interest, 
it is the source of perpetual satisfaction ; it is 
one of our most important duties as men, and 
particularly required in the professor of Chris- 
tianity. 

I have therefore lamented, that they who 
have taken the most pains to recommend an 
attention to the art of pleasing have urged it 
only on the mean motives of self-interest. In 
order to attain the power of pleasing, they 
have recommended flattery and deceit; and 
though they have required in their pupils the 
appearances of many good qualities, they have 
not insisted on any substantial and consistent 
virtue. 

It is my wish to exalt this amiable talent of 
pleasing to the rank of a virtue founded on 
principle, and on the best dispositions of human 
nature. I would separate it from those var- 
nished qualities, which, like whited sepulchres, 
are but a disguise for internal deformity. A 



70 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

student of the art of pleasing, as it is taught in 
the school of fashion, is all softness and plausi- 
bility, all benevolence and generosity, all atten- 
tion and assiduity, all gracefulness and gentility. 
Such, at least, is the external appearance ; but 
compare it with his private life, with those 
actions which pass unseen, and you will find 
them by no means correspondent to the specious 
outside. You will usually find a hard heart, 
meanness, selfishness, avarice, and a total want 
of those principles from which alone true be- 
nevolence, sincere friendship, and gentleness 
of disposition, can originate. You will, indeed, 
find even the appearances of friendship and be- 
nevolence proportioned to the supposed riches 
and rank of him whose favour and patronage 
are cultivated. 

It is a favourite maxim with those who teach 
the art of pleasing, that, if you desire to please, 
you can scarcely fail to please. But what mo- 
tive, according to their doctrine, is to excite 
this desire ? — a wish to render all with whom 
you converse subservient to your interested 
purposes of avarice or ambition. It is a mean 
and despicable motive, when made the sole and 
•constant principle of conversation and beha- 
viour. If this life is the whole of our existence, 
if riches and honours are the chief good, if 
truth, honour, and generosity, are but names to 
adorn a declamation, then, indeed, they who 
practise the art of pleasing, according to the 
vulgar idea of it, or, in plain terms, according 
to the rules of Lord Chesterfield, are, after all, 



VIRTUE CONSISTENT WITH POLITENESS. 71 

the truly and the only wise. But let us not 
deem so meanly of the world and its Creator ; 
and if our favourable opinion of things be an 
error, it is not only pardonable, but glorious; 
and a generous man will say, like the noble 
ancient, he had rather err with a Socrates and 
a Plato, than be right with a Machiavel. 

But, indeed, the virtues and the graces are 
much more nearly allied than they who are 
strangers to the virtues are willing to acknow- 
ledge. There is something extremely beauti- 
ful in all the moral virtues, clearly understood 
and properly reduced to practice. Religion is 
also declared to be full of pleasantness, in that 
volume in which its nature is described with 
the greatest authenticity. It must, indeed, be 
allowed, that he who is actuated in his desire 
of pleasing by morality and religion, may very 
properly add all the embellishments of external 
gracefulness; and he may rest assured, that the 
sincerity of his principles, and the goodness of 
his character, will insure a degree of success 
in his attempts to please, which a false pre- 
tender, with all his duplicity, can never obtain 
or preserve. 

If true politeness consists in yielding some- 
thing of our own pretensions to the self-love of 
others, in repressing our pride and arrogance, 
and in a gentleness of sentiment and conduct ; 
surely nothing can be more conducive to it 
than a religion which everywhere recommends 
brotherly love, meekness, and humility. I know 
not how paradoxical my opinion might appear 



Tl THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

to the fashionable assemblies of St. James's, or 
to the professed men of the world, or to the 
proficient in what I call the insincere art of 
pleasing; but I cannot help thinking, that a 
true Christian, one who thinks and acts, as far 
as the infirmity of his nature will permit, con- 
sistently with the principles of his religion, pos- 
sesses qualities more capable of pleasing than 
any of those which are said so eminently to 
have distinguished a Marlborough and a Bo- 
lingbroke. They who study the art of pleasing 
will probably have recourse, as usual, to the 
many volumes written on the subject in the 
French language, or to the posthumous letters 
of a frenchified Englishman ; and perhaps they 
would smile if an instructor were to refer them 
for the best rules that have ever been given to 
the Sermon on the Mount. 

It is however certain, that the art of pleas- 
ing, which is founded on sincere principles, de- 
rived from religion and morality, is as far supe- 
rior to that base art which consists only in 
simulation and dissimulation, as the fine bril- 
liancy of the real diamond excels the lustre of 
French paste; or as the roseate hue on the 
cheek of Hebe, the painted visage of a haggard 
courtezan. The insincere art of pleasing re- 
sembles the inferior species of timber used by 
the cabinet-maker, which, in order to please 
the eye, requires the assistance of paint; but 
the art which is founded on sincerity is more 
like that which displays far greater beauty in 
the variety and richness of its own native veins 



VIRTUE CONSISTENT WITH POLITENESS. 73 

and colour. A short time, or a slight touch, 
destroys the superficial beauty of one, while the 
other acquires new graces from the hand of 
time. 

The rules and doctrines of morality and reli- 
gion tend to correct all the malignant qualities 
of the heart, such as envy, malice, pride, and 
resentment. In doing this, they cut off the 
very source of disagreeable behaviour. Mo- 
rality and religion inculcate whatever is just, 
mild, moderate, candid, and benevolent. In 
doing this, they effectually promote a system 
of manners, which, without any sinister design 
in the person who possesses them, cannot fail 
of being agreeable. If to these substantial pow- 
ers of pleasing are added the last polish of a 
graceful deportment, the habits acquired in 
good company, an acquaintance with men and 
manners, a taste for polite arts and polite books, 
no other requisites will be wanting to perfect 
the art, and form an all-accomplished character. 
A man will be under no necessity of hurting 
his conscience and reputation in cultivating I 
know not what of a deceitful and affected be- 
haviour. He may be at once pleasing and 
respectable, and grow in favour with men with- 
out offending God. 

It is one circumstance greatly in favour of 
that art of pleasing which I recommend, that, 
even if it should not always succeed in pleasing 
those with whom we converse, it will be sure 
to please our own hearts; it will be sure to 
satisfy our conscience with a sense of rectitude 



74 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

at the time we are acting under its direction, 
and to furnish us with a tranquil delight, unal- 
loyed by the remembrance of treachery and 
meanness. It reconciles man to himself, and 
brings peace at the last. 



ON THE FEAR OF APPEARING SINGULAR. 

Few among mankind are able, and perhaps 
fewer are willing, to take the trouble of pre- 
serving with consistency a system of principles 
purely of their own selection. They separate 
themselves into large divisions, which, like the 
flock conducted by the sheep and bell, impli- 
citly tread in the footsteps of some distinguish- 
ed leader. Thus is the pain of consulting the 
judgment in every emergency easily avoided. 
The road becomes a beaten and wide one, and 
each individual knows where to step, only by 
seeing the vestige of his predecessor. 

But if the chosen leader be a treacherous or 
injudicious guide, the followers must inevitably 
be led into evil. Now it unfortunately happens, 
that the leaders, who are the most likely to 
attract the more numerous herds, are, in many 
cases, the least likely to possess rhe more 
valuable qualities. For what is it which chiefly 
attracts popular notice 1 Vanity and effrontery. 
But these qualities imply dispositions obviously 
inconsistent with an eminent and solid virtue ; 
though always united with showy, superficial, 



FEAR OF SINGULARITY. 75 

and deceitful ornaments. Thus it comes to 
pass, that the fashionable modes of thinking 
and living", whatever modes in the vicissitudes 
of human affairs assume that name, will sel- 
dom bear the test of inquiry, without discover- 
ing that they are, on many occasions, futile and 
culpable. For who, indeed, was the great 
legislator who established them? Some rich, 
gross, unphilosophical man, or some titled frivo- 
lous lady, distinguished for boldness, but not 
for excellence ; vain, presumptuous, and dicta- 
torial, though qualified neither by nature, parts, 
nor education, to prescribe to others, and ele- 
vated to a transitory empire by a concurrence 
of favourable contingencies with their own 
usurping and importunate intrusion. Once 
seated on the throne, their edicts are arbitrary 
and irresistible. With the authority of their 
signature, there is no deformity which will not 
assume the semblance of beauty, no vice which 
will not appear with all the confidence which 
naturally belongs to virtue, but which the deli- 
cacy of virtue is too apt to conceal. 

The subjects of these self-erected tyrants are 
most truly slaves, though voluntary slaves; 
but as slavery of any kind is unfavourable to 
human happiness and improvement, I will ven- 
ture to offer a few suggestions, which may 
induce the subjugated tribes to revolt, and 
claim their invaluable birthright, their natural 
liberty. 

To select a model for imitation is one of the 
best methods of facilitating the acquisition of 



76 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

any excellence. A living model not only shows 
what is to be done, but how. The imitation 
must not, however, be servile. A servile imi- 
tation is that which obeys the dictates of the 
master without venturing-, at any time or under 
any circumstances, to inquire into the reason 
of it. The servile imitator paces in the same 
round, like the mill-horse, whose eyes are hood- 
winked, that he may not be allured by inter- 
vening objects to deviate from the tedious cir- 
cle into a pleasanter or safer path of his own 
selection. 

It may not be improper to premise, that to 
one individual his own natural rights and pos- 
sessions, of whatever kind, are as valuable as 
those of another are to that other, however 
great, rich, or illustrious he may be. It is his 
own happiness which is concerned in his choice 
of principles and conduct. By these he is to 
stand, or by these to fall. 

In making this important choice, then, let 
the sense of its importance lead him to assert 
the rights of man. These rights will justify 
him in acting and thinking, as far as the laws 
of that community whose protection he seeks 
can allow, according to the suggestions of his 
own judgment. He will do right to avoid 
adopting any system of principles, or following 
any pattern of conduct, dictated by fashion 
only, which his judgment has not pronounced 
conducive to his happiness, and consistent with 
his duties; consistent with those duties which 
he owes to his God, to his neighbour, to him- 



FEAR OF SINGULARITY. 77 

self, and to his community. Though the small 
circle with whom he is personally connected 
may think and act differently, and may even 
despise and ridicule his singularity, yet let him 
persevere. His duty, his freedom, his con- 
science, and his happiness, must appear to every 
thinking man superior to all considerations un- 
der heaven. 

Men act wrong scarcely less often from the 
defect of courage than of knowledge and of 
prudence. Dare to be wise, said an ancient; 
in order to which, it will first be necessary to 
dare to be singular. But in this and every 
other effort of virtue no step must be taken be- 
yond the golden mean. The singularity which 
I recommend will be as distant from morose- 
ness and misanthropy, and from ridiculous od- 
dity, as it will from an unmanly and perni- 
cious obsequiousness to those who possess no 
reasonable right to take the lead ; I mean the 
self-appointed dictators in the empire of fashion. 

If the immoderate fear of appearing singu- 
lar is injurious to health, to fortune, to peace of 
mind, and to rational enjoyment, as perhaps on 
a farther consideration it will appear to be, I 
shall contribute something to promote happiness, 
by daring to be so singular as to recommend 
singularity. 

Of the many who impair their constitutions 
by early excess and debauchery, a great part 
is instigated to irregularity by other motives 
than the impulse of passion. A young man 
just introduced into the company of his equals, 



78 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

entertains a natural and a laudable desire to 
recommend himself to their favour. If they 
indulge in wine to excess, or in any other in- 
temperance, he thinks he must do so likewise; 
for he cannot bear to be singular; and has, be- 
sides, received among his prudential rules, that 
he is to do as the rest do, wherever he may be 
fixed ; and who, indeed, will dare to disobey 
the precept which commands us, While we are 
at Rome, to do as they do at Rome] Thus is 
the favour of our temporary companions gain- 
ed ; but our health, which was designed to en- 
dure, and with proper management would have 
endured, till the regular decays of nature, is 
greatly injured, or totally destroyed. I will, 
then, venture to exhort the young man, not to 
dread the imputation of singularity so much as 
to endanger the loss of that which can seldom 
be completely regained, and without which no 
favour, no applause, no popularity, can give to 
life its natural sweetness. 

With respect to that ruin which consists in 
the loss of fortune and the accumulation of 
debt, it is daily effected by the fear of singu- 
larity. However their finances may have de- 
clined, they who are whirled in the vortex of 
fashion cannot retrench. They must act as 
their equals act ; they must, like others, dress, 
keep a table, an equipage, and resort to public 
diversions. It is necessary, according to their 
ideas ; and they tacitly acknowledge the obli- 
gation to be much greater than that of the 
moral duties. For who could bear to be odd 



, FEAR OF SINGULARITY. 79 

people, to descend among' the tribes of those 
whom nobody knows, and who indeed are dis- 
tinguished only for the plain qualities of pro- 
bity and decency 1 Indulgences and extrava- 
gances are thus allowed, not altogether for the 
pleasure they afford, but often from the horror 
of singularity. It is to be wished, that the hor- 
ror of a bankruptcy, a gaol, an elopement, or a 
pistol, possessed but half the influence. 

In destroying health and fortune, this con- 
duct certainly destroys that peace of mind, 
without which all external advantages what- 
ever are but like music and paintings, banquets 
and perfumes, to him who has lost all powers 
of perception. But supposing health and for- 
tune to be preserved, yet the fear of singularity 
will lead to omissions and commissions which 
will one day hurt a conscience not entirely in- 
sensible. Religion and duty enjoin many things 
which are real solecisms and downright barba- 
risms in the school of fashion. 

When health, fortune, and peace are gone, 
it may be justly said, no arguments are neces- 
sary to prove that there can be no enjoyment. 
But supposing them not entirely lost, and that 
room were left for some degrees of happiness, 
even that little would be greatly lessened by a 
too scrupulous fear of deviating from the arbi- 
trary standard of a fantastic mode. The taste, 
fancies, inclinations of other men, cannot please 
us like the genuine choice of our native feel- 
ings, directed by our own judgment properly 
informed. They may, indeed, be adopted, and 



80 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

even loved ; but an adopted child seldom ex 
cites and soothes our sensibilities in a degree 
equal to that which is caused by our own 
offspring trained in the paths of wisdom, with 
the affectionate vigilance of parental superin- 
tendence. 

Upon the whole, I cannot help thinking, that, 
however Pride may vaunt herself, and Fashion 
assume airs of superior wisdom in her choice, 
it is singularly foolish, absurd, and wicked, to 
decline any practices and any habits, however 
unusual, which evidently tend to render a man 
singularly learned, singularly good, and singu- 
larly happy. 



ON THAT KIND OF WISDOM WHICH CONSISTS 
IN ACCOMMODATION AND COMPLIANCE, 
WITHOUT ANY PRINCIPLES BUT THOSE OF 
SELFISHNESS. 

There is a mean and sneaking kind of wis- 
dom (I can allow it no better epithets) which 
marks the present times, and consists in a com- 
pliance with the inclinations, and an assent to 
the opinions, of those with whom we converse, 
however opposite they may be to our own, or 
to those we complied with, or assented to, in 
the last company in which we were engaged. 
And this cunning and cautious behaviour is 
honoured with the name of true politeness, 
good sense, and knowledge of the world ; or, to 
speak in the technical language of fashion, 



SELFISH COMPLIANCES. 81 

taking the ton of our company. When it is 
closely examined, it appears to originate in 
timidity, in a mean and excessive regard to 
self-interest, and to be utterly inconsistent with 
the principles of honesty. "A person of dis- 
cretion," says the sensible and satirical Collier, 
" will take care not to embarrass his life, nor 
expose himself to calumny, nor let his con- 
science grow too strong for his interest; he 
never crosses a prevailing mistake, or opposes 
any mischief that has numbers and prescrip- 
tion on its side. His point is to steal upon the 
blind side, and apply to the affections; to flat- 
ter the vanity and play upon the weakness of 
those in power or interest, and to make his for- 
tune out of the folly of his neighbours." 

I venture, however, to affirm, that he who 
adopts this conduct, however plausible his ap- 
pearance, however oily his tongue, and spe- 
cious his professions, is no honest man. He 
would not for the world contradict you, or in 
any respect express his disapprobation of your 
taste or your choice. But why should he not? 
Is it because he really thinks as you think, and 
feels as you feel? Impossible. For he will as- 
sent to opinions diametrically opposite, as soon 
as he goes from your door to your next neigh- 
bour. Is it because he is so abundantly good- 
natured as to fear lest he should give you pain 
by contradiction? Believe it not. It is true, 
indeed, that he fears to contradict you ; but it 
is only lest he should lose your favour : and it 
is a maxim with him to court the favour of 
6 



82 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

every individual; because he may one day 
want his assistance in accomplishing the ob- 
jects of his covetousness or his ambition. 
While, therefore, he is entering into your 
views, approving your taste, confirming your 
observations, what think you passes in his 
mind ] Himself is the subject of his thoughts; 
and while you imagine that he is concurring 
with your opinion, and admiring your judg- 
ment, he is only meditating how he may most 
easily insinuate himself into your favour. Such 
cautious, timid, subtle men, are very uncommon 
in the world, and so are highwaymen and pick- 
pockets. 

It must be owned, with regret, that this de- 
ceitful intercourse is too often the mode of con- 
verse among those self-elevated beings who 
have separated themselves from the rest of 
mankind, under the name of People of Fashion. 
Among these empty dictators of external forms 
you must learn to take the tone of every body 
with whom you converse, except, indeed, of 
the vulgar. With the grave you must be 
grave ; with the gay you must be gay ; with 
the vicious you must be vicious; and with the 
good and learned, as good and learned as the 
best of them, if you can ; but if you are not 
quite adept enough in dissimulation to have at- 
tained this excellence, it is safest to keep out 
of their way ; for they are apt to speak disa- 
greeable truths, and to be quite insufferable 
betes. This versatility and duplicity of the 
grand monde may, indeed, constitute a man of 



SELFISH COMPLIANCES. 83 

the world ; but let it be remembered, that a 
book of some authority classes the world, when 
spoken of in this sense, with the devil. 

The over-cautious wise men of these times 
are very fond of getting into the company of 
an honest man ; when, by throwing out leading 
ideas, or by asking insidious questions, they 
contrive to learn all his sentiments without ut- 
tering an opinion of their own. I have known 
some of these close gentlemen of the volto 
sciolto and the pensieri stretti so reserved and 
mysterious, and at the same time, so inquisi- 
tive, that you would have imagined them com- 
missioned spies of an enemy's country, or mem- 
bers of the privy council at home. If, after 
you have opened yourself, you ask their opinion, 
they answer, That really they do not know 
what to say, they have not quite made up their 
minds on the subject; some people, they find, 
think one way, and some another. With re- 
spect to themselves, they hint that though they 
were at first very doubtful, yet your arguments 
seem almost to have made them converts to 
your opinions; and, whatever the event may 
be, you have fully proved that reason is of your 
side ; or, if it is not, you have shown amazing 
ingenuity and abilities in saying so much on a 
side which cannot be defended. Then, after 
having gained their point of sounding your sen- 
timents, the conversation turns to the topics of 
the weather or the wind. 

They display a most outrageous affectation 
of candour. They are always ready to make 



84 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

allowances for the infirmities of human nature, 
except when a rival, or an object of their 
hatred, is to be injured ; and then, though it is 
not their disposition to be censorious, though it 
is well known they always palliate what they 
can, yet in this particular case, they will whis- 
per what they would not speak aloud, nor have 
go any farther; they will whisper, that they 
believe the report, however injurious, to be 
strictly true, and, indeed, rather a favourable 
account ; for if you knew as much as they do, 
they insinuate that you would be shocked in- 
deed : but, however, they declare they will not 
in candour disclose what they know. So that 
we may conclude, as indeed is often the case, 
that badness of heart is united with pusilla- 
nimity. They are affectedly kind when their 
selfish views are to be promoted by kindness, 
but really and most implacably malevolent 
when the same purposes are more effectually 
served by malevolence, or when they have 
an opportunity of gratifying their envy or 
revenge. 

Where compliance and assent, caution and 
candour, arise from a natural tenderness of dis- 
position and softness of nature, they are amia- 
ble and respectable, but as the effects of artifice 
they must be despised. The persons who falsely 
pretend to them are, indeed, often themselves 
dupes of their own deceit, when they imagine 
others are deluded by it. For excessive art 
always betrays itself; and many, who, from 
motives of delicacy and tenderness, do not 



SELFISH COMPLIANCES. 85 

openly rebuke the deceiver, secretly deride 
and warmly resent his ineffectual subtilty. 
Cunning people are apt, as it has been well 
observed, to entertain too mean an opinion of 
the intellects of those with whom they con- 
verse, and to suppose that they can be moved 
like puppets by secret wires well managed be- 
hind the curtain. But the puppets are often 
refractory, and the spectators, on whom the 
awkward experiment of delusion has been tried, 
always displeased. 

Lucrative views are the usual motives which 
allure the sycophant to his mean submissions. 
But where lucrative views are greatly predomi- 
nant, a truly respectable man is seldom found. 
Covetousness is so greedy a passion, that it not 
only attracts to itself its proper objects, but 
swallows up almost every other affection. Man, 
indeed, is naturally and properly attached to 
himself in a certain degree ; but a liberal edu- 
cation, united to a good nature, corrects the 
excess of selfishness, and enables us to find 
enjoyment in many pursuits which are con- 
ducive to the good of society. But when all 
is made to concentre in self, and when the mind 
is so contracted as to see no good but lucre, 
it brings its proper punishment, by a voluntary 
condemnation of itself to a slavish, a timid, and 
an anxious existence. So that the contemptible 
characters which I have been describing, are, 
in truth, enemies to self, even when they are 
exclusively devoted to it. 



86 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

There are others who adopt the pusillanimi- 
ty of mean compliance and servile assent, from 
a wish to pass quietly and smoothly through 
life, without the asperities or noise of opposi- 
tion. This wish, however amiable and laudable, 
may certainly lead to excessive and unmanly 
obsequiousness. Every man is bound by his 
religion, and by his regard to himself, his fami- 
ly, and his country, to seek peace. But it will 
not be secured by unmanly submissions. A 
proper degree of spirit and courage is as ne- 
cessary to preserve tranquillity as a pacific dis- 
position. Internal peace is infinitely more 
valuable than external; but he who is always 
afraid to avow his sentiments, and is led into 
the mazes of deceit and duplicity, will feel, 
amid his fears and his contrivances, that his 
bosom is agitated with emotions by no means 
tranquil and serene. Add to this, that the 
spiritless servility of a mean but fashionable 
time-server will often invite, as it will always 
desire, contempt. 

In truth, every sensible man must form opin- 
ions on every thing which presents itself, and 
every honest man dares to avow 7 them, when 
there is no evident and honourable reason for 
their concealment. If a man has formed vir- 
tuous, religious, and patriotic principles, he in- 
jures all those causes which he must wish to 
serve, by fearing to declare openly, on proper 
occasions, his inward conviction. It is, indeed, 
his duty to do so; for it is a part of virtue to 



SELFISH COMPLIANCES- 87 

add confidence to the virtuous, by boidly pro- 
fessing a wish to be of the number, and by 
standing forward their avowed auxiliary. 

But that wisdom, which consists in political 
compliance, without regard to antiquated no- 
tions of moral fitness or unfitness, is no less 
visible in public than in private life. It is not 
always the honest and upright, whose heart is 
as open as his countenance, that is judged 
worthy of great offices and employments. It 
is more frequently the varnished character, 
which, while it holds out the best professions, is 
capable of co-operating in all the mean arti- 
fices, which are often, according to the narrow 
system of worldly politics, politically necessary. 
In many employments of state, he who cannot 
meanly submit to time-serving will not be able 
to serve himself, nor permitted to serve his 
country. 

In public measures, for instance, it is insinu- 
ated, that not what is strictly and morally right 
or strictly and morally wrong, is to be consider- 
ed, so much as what is seasonable, what the 
times and the present system of manners will 
conveniently bear. At one time, popery is to 
be encouraged, because we are threatened with 
an invasion, and the papists are a numerous 
and rich body, capable of greatly assisting us 
as friends, or annoying us as enemies. At an- 
other time, popery is to be discountenanced by 
writings, by laws, by axes, and by fagots. At 
one time, Christianity is to be propagated by 



88 TRE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

missionaries wherever we make a discovery; 
at another, we are to visit and revisit the isles 
of the Southern ocean, and not a wish be ex- 
pressed by the rulers, civil or ecclesiastic, for 
the conversion of the poor Otaheiteans and 
Ulieteans. Now who is it who makes the times 
what they are 1 Even those, whose excessive 
caution and cowardly policy leave a doubt on 
the minds of the many, whether that zeal is not 
totally deficient which is the genuine result of 
sincerity. 

I have no doubt, but that the civil de- 
partments of the state would flourish more if 
that conduct were followed in their support 
which shines openly in the eyes of mankind as 
the result of truth and honesty, than when 
those petty tricks and that temporizing manage- 
ment are pursued, which lead the governed to 
despise the persons, and to disobey the authori- 
ty of the governor. Let legal authority openly 
dictate what is right, when measured by the 
great eternal standard of truth and justice, and 
then let legal pow T er enforce the practice. The 
times would then be conformed to the rulers, 
and not the rulers, by a strange perversion, to 
the obliquity of the times. 



INFLUENCE OF POLITICS. 89 

ON THE INFLUENCE OF POLITICS, AS A SUBJECT 
OF CONVERSATION, ON THE STATE OF LITER- 
ATURE. 

It is a mark of the social and public spirit 
of this nation, that there is scarcely a member 
of it who does not bestow a very considerable 
portion of his time and thoughts in studying its 
political welfare, its interest, and its honour. 
Though this general taste for politics, from the 
highest to the lowest orders of the people, has 
afforded subjects for comic ridicule ; yet I can- 
not help considering it both as a proof of un- 
common liberality, and as one of the firmest 
supports of civil liberty. It kindles and keeps 
alive an ardent love of freedom. It has hitherto 
preserved that glorious gift of God from the 
rude hand of tyranny, and tends, perhaps more 
than any other cause, to communicate the no- 
ble fire of true patriotism to the bosom of pos- 
terity. While we watch vigilantly over every 
political measure, and communicate an alarm 
through the country with a speed almost equal 
to the shock of electricity, there will be no 
danger that a government should establish des- 
potism, even though it were to invade the 
rights of his people at the head of a standing 
army. There would be many a Leonidas to 
stand at the gates of Thermopylae. 

But as zeal without knowledge is subversive 
of the purpose which it means to promote ; it 
becomes a true friend to his country, to endea- 
vour to unite with the love of liberty the love 



90 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of knowledge. It unfortunately happens, that 
political subjects are of so warm and ani- 
mating- a nature, that they not only appear to 
interest in a very high degree, but to engross 
the attention. The newspapers, corrupt as 
they now are, with only one or two excep- 
tions, form the whole library of the politician ; 
the coffee-house is his school : and he prefers 
an acrimonious pamphlet, for or against the 
ministry, to all that was ever written by a 
Homer, or discovered by a Newton. 

To be a competent judge either of political 
measures or events, it is necessary to possess 
an enlightened understanding, and the liberal 
spirit of philosophy; it is necessary to have 
read history, and to have formed right ideas of 
the nature of man and of civil society. But I 
know not how it happens, the most ignorant 
and passionate are apt to be the most decisive 
in delivering their sentiments on the very com- 
plicated subjects of political controversy. A 
man whose education never extended beyond 
writing and the four rules, will determine at 
once, and with the most authoritative air, such 
questions as would perplex the wisest states- 
man adorned with all human learning, and as- 
sisted by the experience and advice of the most 
cultivated persons in the nation. Even gentle- 
men, according to the common acceptation of 
that title, or those who have fortunes and have 
received the common instruction of the times, 
are seldom able to judge with propriety in 
politics, though they are usually inclined to 



INFLUENCE OF POLITICS. 91 

dictate with passion. Is it possible that, from 
having learnt only the first elements of Latin 
and French, and the arts of dancing, fencing, 
and fiddling, a man should be qualified, I do 
not say to sit as a senator, but to expatiate, 
with sufficient judgment and intelligence, on 
the propriety and nature of important measures 
concerted by profound wisdom? 

But even among persons whose minds are 
sufficiently improved to distinguish and pursue 
the good of man and of society, independently 
either of passion or of private advantage, the 
rage for politics often proceeds too far, and ab- 
sorbs all other objects. In vain does the hand 
of art present the picture or repeat the melody 
of music; for the eye is blind, the ear is deaf, 
to all but the news and newspaper. Poetry, 
philology, elegant and polite letters, in all their 
ramifications, display their alluring charms in 
vain to him whose head and heart still vibrate 
with the harsh and discordant sounds of a polit- 
ical dispute. Those books whose tendency is 
only to promote elegant pleasures or advance 
science, which flatter no party, and gratify no 
malignant passion, are suffered to fall into ob- 
livion; while a pamphlet which espouses the 
cause of any political men or measures, how- 
ever inconsiderable its literary merit, is extolled, 
as one of the first productions of modern litera- 
ture. But meagre is the food furnished to the 
mind of man by the declamation of a party 
bigot. From a taste for trash, and a disrelish 
of the wholesome food of the mind, and from 



92 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

the consequent neglect of solid learning", mere 
politicians are prevented from receiving valua- 
ble improvement; and the community, together 
with literature, is at last deeply injured. For 
when learning is little respected, it will natu- 
rally decline ; and that the mental darkness 
consequent on its decline leads to the establish- 
ment of despotism, every one who has survey- 
ed the pictures of mankind, as portrayed by 
the pencil of history, will immediately ac- 
knowledge. What did Athens and Rome retain 
of their ancient dignity when their learning 
and their arts were no more 1 That the light 
of learning should ever again be extinguished, 
may appear a visionary idea to an American ; 
but so it did to a Roman in the days of Cicero. 
Notwithstanding the multiplication of books by 
the art of printing, both they and all value for 
them may vanish together with the power of 
understanding them, if the fury of politics 
should occasion a contempt for letters and for 
education, and convert the leaders of a people, 
or the people themselves, into Goths and 
Vandals. 

He who would add an elegance to politics, 
and distinguish his conversation on the subject 
from the vociferation of porters in an alehouse, 
should inspect the finished pieces of antiquity, 
and learn to view public acts and counsels in 
the light in which they appeared to philoso- 
phers, to those whom the world has long con- 
sidered the best teachers of political wisdom. 
Let him study such authors as Thucydides and 



INFLUENCE OF POLITICS. 93 

Xenophon, Polybius and Plutarch, Livy and 
Sallust. Politics will assume new grace by 
communicating with history and philosophy ; 
and political conversation, instead of a vague, 
passionate, and declamatory effusion of undi- 
gested ideas, will become a most liberal exer- 
cise of the faculties, and form a mental ban- 
quet, at which the best and wisest of mankind 
might indulge their finer appetites with insatia- 
ble avidity. What can constitute a more ra- 
tional object of contemplation than the noble 
fabric of society, civilized by arts, letters, and 
religion 1 What can better employ our sagacity, 
than to devise modes, with the liberality of a 
philosophical patriotism, for its improvement 
and preservation'? 

Not only the understanding, the taste, the 
temper of a people, but the spirit also, will be 
greatly improved by learning politics of the 
Greeks and Romans. No man of feeling ever 
yet read Livy without learning to detest mean- 
ness and slavery, and to glow with a love of 
liberty and emulation of public virtue. The 
Greek and Roman spirit cannot be too much 
encouraged by those who have a just idea of 
the dignity of an American, and desire to 
maintain it. And let it be remembered, that 
the Athenians, in their most glorious periods, 
were as much attached to politics and news 
as Americans ever were; but that they pre- 
served, amidst the warmest contest, a refined 
taste and delicate passion for the politest learn- 
ing and the profoundest philosophy. 



£4 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 



ON THE PECULIAR DANGER OF FALLING INTO 
INDOLENCE IN A LITERARY AND RETIRED 
LIFE. 

It is certain, that as our ancestors were in- 
duced to found colleges by religious motives, so 
they chiefly intended them to answer the pur- 
poses of religion. Those pious benefactors to 
mankind did not mean to establish seminaries 
to prepare men for the world, but to teach them 
to despise it. But more enlightened periods 
than those in which these worthies lived, have 
discovered, that man best obeys his Maker 
when he takes an active part in the duties of 
society. 

A long residence in a college, is, perhaps, 
scarcely less unfavourable to devotion than to 
social activity. For devotion depends chiefly 
on lively affections, exercised and agitated by 
the vicissitudes of hope and fear in the various 
transactions and events of human intercourse. 
He who is almost placed beyond the reach of 
fortune in the shelter of a cloister, may, indeed, 
be led by the statutes of the institution to at- 
tend his chapel, and doze over his cushion, but 
he will not feel, in any peculiar manner, the 
impulse of devotional fervour. The man who 
is engaged in the busy and honourable duties 
of active life, flies from the world to the altar 
for comfort and refreshment ; but the cloistered 
recluse pants, while he is kneeling in all the 
formalities of religion, for the pleasures and 
employments of that world from which he is 



INDOLENCE IN RETIREMENT. 95 

secluded. During several centuries, a great 
part of mankind was confined in monasteries, 
solely for the advancement of religion and 
learning; yet never was the earth more be- 
nighted than in those periods by bigotry and 
ignorance. Nor will any one assert, that, in 
subsequent times, the improvements in know- 
ledge and religion have been, in any degree, 
proportioned to the numbers of those who have 
been separated from the world to facilitate 
their cultivation. The truth seems to be, that 
when the common incentives to industry are 
removed, and all the natural wants supplied 
without the necessity of exertion, man degen- 
erates, as the pure waters of the river stagnate 
and become putrid in the pool. At last the 
boasting possessor of reason contents himself 
with dreaming " the blank of life along," with 
no other proofs of existence than the wants of 
animal nature. Take away love, ambition, and 
all the changes and chances of this mortal life, 
and man will be contented to eat, drink, sleep, 
and die. 

Not in colleges alone, though they may be 
considered as the temples of indolence, but in 
common life also, the human mind becomes 
torpid, as the necessity of exertion is diminish- 
ed. He who, confiding in the possession of a 
fortune for his happiness, avoids the avocations 
of a profession, and what he calls the fatiguing 
parts of study, will soon lose those powers of 
intellectual activity which he has no resolution 
to employ. He may gradually degenerate to a 



96 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

level with the irrational creation. He already, 
in some respects, approaches to the vegetable. 
And, indeed, when the habits are irretrievably 
confirmed, it might perhaps be happy, if his 
nature would permit him to become at last im- 
passive and quiescent; but as spontaneous fer- 
mentation takes place in masses of putrefac- 
tion, so, in the mind which has ceased to be 
exercised by its own efforts, there will arise 
emotions and habits both offensive and danger- 
ous. Pride and envy, conceit and obstinacy, 
selfishness and sensuality, are among the ugly 
daughters of indolence in the monastic retreat. 
" It may appear paradoxical, but it is certainly 
an opinion authorized by experience, that, an 
active life is the most friendly to contemplation. 
The fire of the mind, like culinary fire, has 
burned with a clear and constant flame, when 
open and ventilated by perpetual motion, as it 
has been smothered and extinguished in smoke, 
when suffered to remain long without disturb- 
ance. The best, and many of the most volu- 
minous writers, acted still more than they 
wrote. What could be more unlike the life of 
the cloister, than the lives of Xenophon, Julius 
Caesar, Erasmus, and a thousand others, whose 
days were so engaged in negotiation, in senates, 
in battles, in travelling, that it is not easy to 
conceive how they could find time, even to pen 
so great a quantity as they certainly composed. 
But such are the effects of assiduity, of an 
uninterrupted accumulation of efforts, that he 



INDOLENCE IN RETIREMENT. 97 

who has been excited to restless activity by the 
spurs of honour, interest, and generosity of na- 
ture, has frequently accomplished more by him- 
self, than a thousand of his fellow-creatures 
employed in the same sphere, and furnished, by 
nature, with equal abilities for improvement. 
A hackney writer of catch-penny compilations, 
the editor of a newspaper, the maker of a 
magazine, will perform, in a few months, a 
portion of literary labour, which shall infinitely 
exceed that of whole colleges inhabited by 
those who slumber in literary retirement. 

But it avails little to point out the disorders 
of literary indolence, without endeavouring to 
suggest a remedy. It appears then to me, that 
those whom Providence has blessed with leisure, 
and the opportunity of spending it in the pur- 
suits of learning, and the liberal pleasures of 
retirement, too often languish in their pursuits, 
from neglecting to render them the subjects ©f 
debate and conversation. It is the warmth of 
discussion in free and social meetings which 
invigorates solitary study, and sends the scholar 
back to his books with fresh alacrity. The hope 
of making a figure in a subsequent conversa- 
tion, the fear of a shameful exposure, and of 
appearing inferior to those who are, in a natural 
and civil view, our equals, will stimulate all 
our powers, and engage all our attention, while 
we sit in those very libraries where we ones 
nodded and slumbered over the page of a 
Homer or a Cicero. Meetings should be estab- 
7 



98 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

lished in all literary societies for the communi- 
cation of remarks and the rehearsal of compo- 
sitions. But the strictest rules should be pre- 
scribed and observed for the preservation of de- 
corum, otherwise ridicule would gradually be 
introduced, and the feast of reason be converted 
either to a banquet of jollity, or a tumult of 
noise and nonsense. 

It is right also, that contemplative men, how- 
ever far removed from the necessity of employ- 
ment by the favours of fortune, should commu- 
nicate with mankind, not only in pleasures and 
amusements, but in real duties and active vir- 
tues, either conjugal, paternal, professional, 
official, or charitable. Something should be 
engaged in, with such obligations to perform- 
ance, that an inclination to neglect should be 
over-ruled by legal compulsion, or the fear of 
certain loss and shame. The best method of 
avoiding the wretched state of not knowing 
what to do, is, to involve ourself in such cir- 
cumstances as shall force one to do something, 
and something honourable and useful. The 
natural indolence of the human heart is found 
to escape every restraint but the iron arm of 
necessity. Such is our present condition, that 
we must be often chained down to our real hap- 
piness and our best enjoyment. 



INGENUOUSNESS. 99 

ON THE BEAUTY AND HAPPINESS OF AN OPEN 
BEHAVIOUR AND AN INGENUOUS DISPOSI- 
TION.* 

Many persons, if they cannot furnish them- 
selves with the courage and generosity of the 
lion, think themselves equally happy, and much 
wiser, with the pitiful cunning of the fox. 
Every word they speak, however trivial the 
subject, is weighed before it is uttered. A dis- 
gustful silence is observed till somebody of au- 
thority has advanced an opinion, and then with 
a civil leer, a doubtful and hesitating assent is 
given, such as may not preclude the opportu- 
nity of a subsequent retraction. If the conver- 
sation turn only on the common topics of the 
weather, the news, the play, the opera, they 
are no less reserved than if their lives and for- 
tunes depended on the opinion they at last 
venture, with oracular dignity, to utter. What- 
ever may be their real idea on the subject, as 
truth is a trifle compared to the object of 
pleasing those with whom they converse, they 
generally contrive gently to agree with you ; 
unless it should appear to them, on mature con- 
sideration, that their opinion (if contingencies 

* The intention of this, and several other papers, was 
to counteract the effects of Lord Chesterfield's Letters, 
which, at one time, had almost engrossed the public at- 
tention, and were universally studied by the rising gene- 
ration. There is reason to believe that they have had this 
salutary consequence. 



100 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

to the number of at least ten thousand should 
take place) may, at the distance of half a cen- 
tury, involve them in some small danger of 
giving* a little offence, or of incurring a small 
embarrassment. They wear a constant smile 
on their countenance, and are all goodness and 
benevolence, if you will believe their profes- 
sions. But beware. A man of this character 
niger est, as Horace says, and thou who justly 
claimest the title of an honest man, be upon 
thy guard when thine ill fortune introduces 
thee into his company.* 

These crafty animals are even more reserved, 
cautious, timid, and serpentine, in action than 
in conversation. They lay the deepest schemes, 
and no conclave of cardinals, no combination 
of conspirators, no confederacy of thieves, ever 
deliberated with more impenetrable secrecy. 
Connexions are sought with the most painful 
solicitude. No arts and no assiduities are ne- 
glected to obtain the favour of the great. 
Their hearts pant with the utmost anxiety to 
be introduced to a family of distinction and 
opulence, not only because the connexion grati- 
fies their pride, but also because, in the won- 
derful complications and vicissitudes of human 
affairs, it may one day promote their interest. 
Before that day arrives, their perpetual uneasi- 
ness has often put a period to their ambition, by 
terminating their existence. But even if they 
gain their ends, after a youth and a manhood 

* Hunc tu, Romane, caveto. — Hor. 



INGENUOUSNESS. 101 

consumed in constant care and servitude, yet 
the pleasure is not adequate to the pain, nor 
the advantage to the labour. Every one is 
ready to complain of the shortness of life ; to 
spend, therefore, the greatest part of it in per- 
petual fear, caution, suspense, and solicitude, 
merely to accomplish an object of worldly am- 
bition or avarice? — what is it but proverbial 
folly of him who loses a pound to save a penny I 
Give me, O ye powers ! an ingenuous man 
would exclaim, give me health and liberty, 
with a competence, and I will compassionate 
the man of a timid and servile soul, who has at 
last crept on hands and knees, through thick 
and thin, and seated his trembling limbs, after 
they have been palsied with care, on some pain- 
ful eminence. 

Indeed, the perpetual agitation of spirits, 
the tormenting fears, and the ardent hopes, 
which alternately disorder the bosom of the 
subtle and suspicious worldling, are more than 
a counterbalance to all the riches and titular 
honours which successful cunning can obtain. 
What avail fortunes, mansion-houses, parks, 
and equipages, when the poor pursuer of them 
has worn out his sensibility, ruined his nerves, 
lost his eyes, and perhaps stained his honour 
and wounded his conscience, in toilsome 
drudgery and abject servitude, from his youth 
up even to the age of feebleness and decrepi- 
tude ? When a man has a numerous offspring, 
it may, indeed, be generous to sacrifice his own 



102 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ease and happiness to their advancement. He 
may feel a virtuous pleasure in his conduct, 
which may sooth him under every circumstance 
of disagreeable toil or painful submission. But 
it is obvious to observe, that the most artful of 
men, and the greatest slaves to interest and 
ambition, are frequently unmarried men; and 
that they were unmarried, because their cau- 
tion and timidity would never permit them to 
take a step which could never be revoked. 
Themselves, however unamiable, have been 
the only objects of their love ; and the rest of 
mankind have been made use of merely as the 
instruments of their mean purposes and selfish 
gratifications. But the rest of mankind need 
not envy them, for they inflict on themselves 
the punishments they deserve. They are al- 
ways craving and never satisfied ; they suffer a 
torment which is justly represented by the 
heathen mythologists as infernal, that of being 
perpetually reaching after blessings which they 
can never grasp, of being prohibited to taste 
the fruit whose colour appears so charming to 
the eye, and whose flavour so delicious to the 
imagination. 

How lovely and how happy, on the other 
hand, an open and ingenuous behaviour! An 
honest, unsuspicious heart diffuses a serenity 
over life, like that of a fine day, when no cloud 
conceals the blue ether, nor a blast ruffles the 
stillness of the air ; — but a crafty and design- 
ing bosom is all tumult and darkness, and may 



INGENUOUSNESS. 103 

be said to resemble a misty and disordered at- 
mosphere in the comfortless climate of the 
poor Highlander. The one raises a man almost 
to the rank of an angel of light; the other 
sinks him to a level with the powers of dark- 
ness. The one constitutes a terrestrial heaven 
in the breast, the other deforms and debases it 
till it becomes another Tartarus. 

An open and ingenuous disposition is not 
only beautiful and greatly conducive to private 
happiness, but productive of many virtues es- 
sential to the welfare of society. What is so- 
ciety without confidence'? But if the selfish 
and mean system which is established and re- 
commended among many whose advice and ex- 
ample have weight, should universally prevail, 
in whom, and in what shall we be able to con- 
fide 1 — It is already shocking to a liberal mind 
to observe what a multitude of papers, parch- 
ments, oaths, and solemn engagements, is re- 
quired, even in a trivial negotiation. On the 
contrary, how comfortable and how honourable 
to human nature, if promises were bonds, and 
assertions affidavits ! What pleasure and what 
improvement would be derived from conversa- 
tion, if every man would dare to speak his real 
sentiments, with modesty and decorum, indeed, 
but without any unmanly fear of offending! 
To please by honest means, and from the pure 
motives of friendship and philanthropy, is a 
duty ; but they who study the art of pleasing 
merely for their own sakes, are, of all charac- 



104 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ters, those which ought least to please, and 
which appear, when the masque is removed, 
the most disgustful. Truth and simplicity 
of manners are not only essential to virtue 
and happiness, but, as objects of taste, truly 
beautiful. Good minds will always be pleased 
with them, and bad minds we need not wish to 
please. 

Since cunning and deceit are thus odious in 
themselves, and incompatible with real happi- 
ness and dignity, I cannot help thinking, that 
those instructors of the rising generation, who 
have insisted on simulation and dissimulation, 
on the pensieri stretti, on the thousand tricks 
of worldly wisdom, are no less mistaken in 
their ideas, than mean, contracted, and illiberal. 
Listen not, ye generous young men, whose 
hearts are yet untainted, listen not to the delu- 
sive advice of men so deluded or so base. 
Have courage enough to avow the sentiments 
of your souls, and let your countenance and 
your tongue be the heralds of your hearts. 
Please, consistently with truth and honour; 
or be contented not to please. Let justice 
and benevolence fill your bosom, and they will 
shine spontaneously, like the real gem, without 
the aid of a foil, and with the most durable and 
captivating brilliancy. 



LITERACY PURSUITS. 105 



A LIFE OF LITERARY PURSUITS USUALLY A 
LIFE OF COMPARATIVE INNOCENCE. 

It is not the least among the happy effects 
of a studious life, that it withdraws the student 
from the turbulent scenes and pursuits, in 
which it is scarcely less difficult to preserve 
innocence than tranquillity. Successful study 
requires so much attention, and engrosses so 
much of the heart, that he who is deeply en- 
gaged in it, though he may indeed be liable to 
temporary lapses, will seldom contract an in- 
veterate habit of immorality. There is in all 
books of character a reverence for virtue, and 
a tendency to inspire a laudable emulation. He 
who is early, long, and successfully conversant 
with them, will find his bosom filled with the 
love of truth, and affected with a delicate sense 
of honour. By constantly exercising his rea- 
son, his passions are gradually reduced to sub- 
jection, and his head and heart keep pace with 
each other in improvement. But when I assert 
that such are the consequences of literary pur- 
suits, it is necessary to distinguish between 
the real and pretended student ; for there are 
many desultory readers, and volatile men of 
parts, who affect eccentricity, whose lives, if 
one may so express it, are uniformly irregular, 
and who consequently exhibit remarkable in- 
stances of misery and misfortune. 

Folly and imprudence will produce moral 
and natural evil, their genuine offspring, in all 
situations and modes of life. The knowledge 



106 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of arts and sciences cannot prevent the vices 
and the woes which must arise from the want 
of knowing how to regulate our private and 
social conduct. But where prudence and virtue 
are not deficient, I believe few walks of life are 
pleasanter and safer than those which lead 
through the regions of literature. 

Many among mankind are involved in per- 
petual tumult, so that when they feel an inclina- 
tion to consider their duty, their nature, their 
truest happiness, they can scarcely find an op- 
portunity. But he, whom Providence has blessed 
with an enlightened mind, and the command of 
his own time, is enabled to form his heart, and 
direct his choice, according to the dictates of the 
most improved intellects, and the examples of the 
most accomplished characters. He is, indeed, 
a creature far superior to the common herd of 
men, and, being acquainted with pure and ex- 
alted pleasures, lies not under the necessity of 
seeking delight in the grosser gratifications. 
He considers not property as the chief good ; 
he is therefore free from temptations to violate 
his integrity. Disappointment in matters of in- 
terest will never render him uneasy or discon- 
tented, for his books have discovered to him a 
treasure more valuable, in his estimation, than 
the riches of Peru. Through all the vicissi- 
tudes of life, he has a source of consolation in 
the retirement of his library, and in the prin- 
ciples and reflections of his own bosom. From 
his reading he will collect a just estimate of the 
world and of all around him ; and, as he will 



LITERARY PURSUITS. 107 

cherish no unreasonable expectations, he will be 
exempted from severe disappointment. 

The conversation of many abounds with 
slander and detraction, not originally and en 
tirely derived from a malignity of nature, but 
also from ignorance, from a vacancy of intel- 
lect, and from an inability to expatiate on gene- 
ral and generous topics. But, whatever be the 
motive of them, it is certain that few crimes 
are more injurious to private happiness, and op- 
posite to the spirit of our amiable religion, 
than slander and detraction. The man of 
reading is under no temptation to calumniate 
his neighbour from the defect of ideas, or a 
want of taste for liberal and refined conversa- 
tion. He interests himself in his neighbour's 
happiness ; but does not pry into the affairs, nor 
sit in judgment on the domestic arrangements, 
of another's family. Most of the topics of 
scandal are too little and too low for him. He 
will not stoop from his elevation low enough to 
pick the dirty trifles from the ground. His 
thoughts are engaged in elegant and refined 
subjects, far removed from all which tend to 
excite envy, jealousy, or malevolence. 

The want of employment is one of the fre- 
quent causes of vice ; but he who loves a book 
will never want employment. The pursuits of 
learning are boundless, and they present to 
the mind a delightful variety which cannot be 
exhausted, No life is long enough to see all 
the beautiful pictures which the arts and 
sciences, or which history, poetry, and elo- 



108 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

quence, are able to display. The man of letters 
possesses the power of calling up a succession 
of scenes to his view infinitely numerous and 
diversified. He is therefore secured from that 
unhappy state, which urges many to vice and 
dissipation, merely to fill a painful vacuity. 
Even though his pursuits should be trifling, 
and his discoveries unimportant, yet they are 
harmless to others, and useful to himself, as 
preservations of his innocence. Let him not 
be ridiculed or condemned, even though he 
should spend his time in collecting and de- 
scribing moths, mosses, shells, birds, weeds, or 
coins ; for he who loves these things seldom sets 
his affections on pelf, or any of those objects 
which corrupt and divide human society. He 
who finds his pleasure in a museum or a libra- 
ry, will not be often seen in the tavern, in the 
brothel, or at the gaming-table. He is pleased 
if he possesses a non-descript fossil, and envies 
not the wretched enjoyments of the intemperate, 
nor the ill-gotten wealth of the oppressor or 
extortioner. 

But his pursuits have usually a title to much 
greater praise than that of being inoffensive. 
Suppose him in any of the liberal professions. 
If a clergyman, for instance, he devotes his 
time and abilities to the preparation of dissua- 
sives from vice, from folly, from misconduct, 
from infidelity, from all that contributes to ag- 
gravate the wretchedness of wretched human 
nature. Here the pleasures naturally result- 
ing from literary occupations are improved by 



LITERARY PURSUITS. 109 

the sublime sensations of active benevolence, 
the comfortable consciousness of advancing 
the truest happiness of those among our poor 
fellow-creatures who have not enjoyed the 
advantages of education. In the performance 
of the godlike office of a true parish priest, 
there is a necessity of setting an example, and 
of preserving decorum of character ; a neces- 
sity wbich conduces much to the security of 
innocence and good conduct. It is often a 
great happiness to be placed in a rank, where, 
to the restraints of conscience and morality, 
are added the fear of peculiar shame, loss, and 
disgrace, necessarily consequent on ill be- 
haviour. Human nature wants every support 
to keep it from lapsing into depravity. Even 
interest and solicitude for reputation, when, in 
some thoughtless interval, the pillars of virtue 
begin to totter, may stop the fall. The posses- 
sion of a valuable character, which may be lost, 
and of a dignity which must be supported, are 
often very useful auxiliaries in defending the 
citadel against the temporary assaults of passion 
and temptation. 

Since, then, the pursuit of letters is attended 
with many circumstances peculiarly favourable 
to innocence, and consequently to enjoyment 
of the purest and most permanent species, they 
who have been fixed in so desirable a life as a 
life of learning, ought to be grateful to Provi- 
dence for their fortunate lot, and endeavour to 
make the best return in their power, by de~ 



110 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

voting their leisure, their abilities, and their 
acquirements, to performing the will of God, 
and promoting the benefit of mankind. 



ON THE FOLLY OF SACRIFICING COMFORT TO 
TASTE. 

There are certain homely, but sweet com- 
forts and conveniences, the absence of which 
no elegance can supply. But as they some- 
times have nothing of external splendour, they 
are sometimes sacrificed to the gratification of 
vanity. We live too much in the eyes and 
minds of others, and too little to our own 
hearts, and too little to our own consciences, 
and too little to our own satisfaction. We 
are more anxious to appear, than to be, happy. 

According to the present modes of living 
and ideas of propriety, an ostentatious appear- 
ance must be at all events, and in all instances, 
supported. If we can preserve a glittering 
and glossy varnish, we disregard the interior 
materials and solid substance. Many show a 
disposition in every part of their conduct, simi- 
lar to that of the Frenchman, who had rather 
go without a shirt than without ruffles; rather 
starve as a count, than enjoy affluence and inde- 
pendence as an honest merchant or manufac- 
turer. Men idolize the great, and the distinc- 
tions of fashionable life, with an idolatry so 
reverential and complete, that they seem to 



VALUE OF COMFORT. Ill 

mistake it for their duty towards God. For, to 
use the words of the Catechism, do they not 
appear " to believe in them, to fear them, to 
love them with all their hearts, with all their 
minds, with all their souls, and with all their 
strength ; to worship them, to give them thanks, 
to put their whole trust in them, to call upon 
them, to honour their names and their words, 
and to serve them truly all the days of their 
lives]" As they worship false gods, their 
blessings are of the kind which corresponds 
with the nature of their deities. They are 
shadowy and unsubstantial; dreams, bubbles, 
and meteors, which dance before their eyes, 
and often lead them to perdition. 

It is really lamentable to behold families of 
a competent fortune, and respectable rank, who 
(while they deny themselves even the common 
pleasures of a plentiful table; while their 
kitchen is the cave of cold and famine ; while 
their neighbours, relations, and friends pity 
and despise, as they pass, the comfortless and 
inhospitable door) scruple not to be profusely 
expensive in dress, furniture, building, equip- 
age, at public entertainments, in excursions to 
watering places. To feed the fashionable ex- 
travagance, they rob themselves of indulgences 
which they know to be more truly satisfactory ; 
for who among them returns from the midnight 
assembly, or from the summer excursion, with- 
out complaining of dullness, fatigue, ennui, and 
insipidity 4 ? They have shown themselves, they 
have seen many fine persons and many fine 



112 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

things; but have they felt the delicious plea- 
sures of domestic peace, the tranquil delights 
of social intercourse among their neighbours 
and old friends, at their own towns and 
villages, the solid satisfactions of a cool collect- 
ed mind, the comforts arising from a disembar- 
rassed state of finances, and the love and re- 
spect of the vicinage in which they were born 
and bred, and where their family was once re- 
spected and beloved 1 

To run in debt, and be involved in danger 
of arrests and imprisonment, are, in this age, 
almost the objects of fashionable ambition. 
The poor imitator of splendid misery and 
little greatness, risks his liberty and his last 
shilling to become a man of taste and fashion. 
He boasts that he is a happy man, for he is a 
man of pleasure ; he knows how to enjoy life ; 
he professes the important science called the 
scavoir vivre. Give him the distinction which, 
in the littleness and blindness of his soul, he 
considers as the source of happiness and honour. 
Allow him his claim to taste, allow him the 
title of a man of pleasure, and, since he insists 
upon it, allow him his pretensions to sgavoir 
vivre. But at the same time he cannot deny 
that he is haunted by his creditors, that he is 
obliged to hide himself, lest he should lose his 
liberty, that he is eating the bread and the 
meat, and wearing the clothes, of those whose 
children are crying for a morsel, and shivering 
in rags. If he has brought himself fo such a 
state as to feel no uneasiness when he reflects 



VALUE OF COMFORT. 113 

on his embarrassment, and its consequence to 
others ; he is a base, worthless, and degenerate 
wretch. But if he is uneasy, where is his 
happiness? where his exalted enjoyments'? 
How much happier had been this boaster of 
happiness, this pretender to a life of pleasure, 
had he lived within the limits of reason, duty, 
and his fortune, in love and unity with his own 
regular family, at his own lire-side, beloved, 
trusted, respected in his neighbourhood, afraid 
of no creditor or prosecution, nor of any thing 
else but of doing wrong ] He might not, in- 
deed, have made a figure on the turf; he might 
not have had the honour of leading the fashion ; 
but he would probably have had health, wealth, 
fame, and peace. Many a man who is seldom 
seen, and never heard of; enjoys, in the silence 
and security of privacy, all which this sublu- 
nary state can afford to sweeten the cup, and to 
lighten the burden of life. 

In things of an inferior nature, and such as 
are not immediately connected with moral con- 
duct, the same predilection for external appear- 
ance, and the same neglect of solid comfort, 
when placed in competition with the display 
of an affected taste, are found to prevail. Our 
houses are often rendered cold, small, and in- 
convenient, for the sake of preserving a regu- 
larity of external figure, or of copying the 
architecture of a warmer climate. Our car- 
riages are made dangerous or incommodious, 
for the sake of attracting the passenger's eye, 
by something new or singular in their shape, 
8 



114 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

height, or fabric. Our dress is fashioned in 
uneasy forms, and with troublesome superflui- 
ties, or uncomfortable defects, just as the Pro- 
teus, Fashion, issues out the capricious edicts 
of a variable taste. We even eat and drink, 
see and hear, not according to our own appe- 
tites and senses, but as the prevalent taste hap- 
pens to direct. In this refined age we are all 
persons of taste, from the hair-dresser and mil- 
liner, to the senator. The question is not 
what is right, prudent, pleasing, comfortable, 
but what is the ton and the taste. Hence beg- 
garly finery, and lordly beggary. 



ON THE SUPERIOR VALUE OF SOLID ACCOM- 
PLISHMENTS. 

A Dialogue of the Dead between Cicero and 
Lord Chesterfield. 

Esse quam videri. — Sall. 

Cicero. Mistake me not. I know how to 
value the sweet courtesies of life. Affability, 
attention, decorum of behaviour, if they have 
not been ranked by philosophers among the 
virtues, are certainly related to them, and have 
a powerful influence in promoting social hap- 
piness. I have recommended them, as well as 
yourself. But I contend, and no sophistry shall 
prevail upon me to give up this point, that, to 
be truly amiable, they must proceed from good- 
ness of heart. — Assumed by the artful to serve 



SOLID ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 115 

the purposes of private interest, they degene- 
rate to contemptible grimace, and detestable 
hypocrisy. 

Chest. Excuse me, my dear Cicero ; I can- 
not enter farther into the controversy at pre- 
sent. I have a hundred engagements at least; 
and see yonder my little elegant French Com- 
tesse. I promised her and myself the pleasure 
of a promenade. Pleasant walking enough in 
these elysian groves. So much good company 
too, that if it were not that the canaille are apt 
to be troublesome, I should not much regret the 

distance from the Thuilleries. But adieu, 

mon cher ami, for I see Madame * * * * is 
joining the party. Adieu, adieu ! 

Cic. Contemptible fop ! 

Chest. Ah ! what do I hear 1 Recollect 
that I am a man of honour, unused to the pity 
or the insults of an upstart, a novus homo. But 
perhaps your exclamation was not meant of 
me — if so, why — 

Cic. I am as little inclined to insult, as to 
flatter you. Your levity excited my indigna- 
tion ; but my compassion for the degeneracy of 
human nature, exhibited in your instance, ab- 
sorbs my contempt. 

Chest. I could be a little angry, but as 
bienseance forbids it, I will be a philosopher for 
once. — A-propos, pray how do you reconcile 
your — what shall I call it — your unsmooth ad- 
dress to those rules of decorum, that gentleness 
of manners, of which you say you know and 
teach the propriety as well as myself] 



116 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

Cic. To confess the truth, I would not ad- 
vance the external embellishment of manners 
to extreme refinement. Ornamental education, 
or an attention to the graces, has a connexion 
with effeminacy. In acquiring the gentleman, 
I would not lose the spirit of a man. There 
is a gracefulness in a manly character, a beau- 
ty in an open and ingenuous disposition, which 
all the professed teachers of the arts of pleasing 
know not how to communicate. 

Chest. You and I lived in a state of man- 
ners, as different as the periods at which we 
lived w T ere distant. You Romans, pardon me, 
my dear, you Romans — had a little of the 
brute in you. Come, come, I must overlook it. 
You were obliged to court plebeians for their 
suffrages ; and if similis simili gaudet, it must 
be owned, that the greatest of you were secure 
of their favour. Why, Beau Nash would have 
handed your Catos and Brutuses out of the 
ball-room, if they had shown their unmannerly 
heads in it; and my Lord Modish, animated 
with the conscious merit of the largest or 
smallest buckles in the room, according to the 
temporary ton, would have laughed Pompey 
the Great out of countenance. Oh, Cicero, 
had you lived in a modern European court, 
you would have caught a degree of that unde- 
scribable grace, which is not only the orna- 
ment, but may be the substitute of all those 
laboured attainments which fools call solid 
merit. But it was not your good fortune, and I 
make allowances. 



SOLID ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 117 

Cic. The vivacity you have acquired in 
studying the writings and the manners of the 
degenerate Gauls, has led you to set too high 
a value on qualifications which dazzle the 
lively perceptions with a momentary blaze, and 
to depreciate that kind of worth which can 
neither be obtained nor understood without 
serious attention and sometimes painful efforts. 
But I will not contend with you on the proprie- 
ty or impropriety of the outward modes which 
delight fops and coxcombs. I will not spend 
arguments in proving that gold is more valua- 
ble than tinsel, though it glitters less. But I 
must censure you, and with an asperity too, 
which, perhaps, your graces may not approve, 
for recommending vice as graceful, in your 
memorable letters to your son. 

Chest. That the great Cicero should know 
so little of the world, really surprises me. A 
little libertinism, my dear, that's all; how 
can one be a gentleman without a little liber- 
tinism 1 

Cic. I ever thought that to be a gentleman, 
it was requisite to be a moral man. And surely 
you, who might have enjoyed the benefit of a 
light to direct you, which I wanted, were 
blameable in omitting religion and virtue in 
your system. 

Chest. What ! superstitious too ! — You have 
not then conversed with your superior, the 
philosopher of Ferney. I thank Heaven, I 
was born in the same age with that great lumi- 
nary. Prejudice had else, perhaps, chained 



118 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

me in the thraldom of my great-grandmother. 
These are enlightened days ; and I find I have 
contributed something to the general illumina- 
tion, by my posthumous letters. 

Cic. Boast not of them. Remember you 
were a father. 

Chest. And did I not endeavour most effec- 
tually to serve my son, by pointing out the 
qualifications necessary to a foreign ambassa- 
dor, for which department I always designed 
him ] Few fathers have taken more pains to 
accomplish a son than myself. There . was 
nothing I did not condescend to point out to 
him. 

Cic. True: your condescension was great 
indeed. You were the pander of your son. You 
not only taught him the mean arts of dissimu- 
lation, the petty tricks which degrade nobility ; 
but you corrupted his principles, fomented his 
passions, and even pointed out objects for their 
gratification. You might have left the task of 
teaching him fashionable vice to a vicious 
world. Example, and the corrupt affections of 
human nature, will ever be capable of accom- 
plishing this unnatural purpose. But a parent, 
the guardian appointed by nature for an unin- 
structed offspring introduced into a dangerous 
world, who himself takes upon him the office 
of seduction, is a monster indeed. I also had 
a son. I was tenderly solicitous for the right 
conduct of his education. I entrusted him, 
indeed, to Cratippus at Athens; but, like you, 
I could not help transmitting instructions die- 



SOLID ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 119 

*ated by paternal love. Those instructions are 
contained in my book of Offices ; a book which 
has ever been cited by the world as a proof to 
what a height the morality of the heathens 
was advanced without the light of revehtion. 
I own I feel a conscious pride in it ; not on 
account of the ability which it may display^ 
but for the principles it teaches, and the good r 
I flatter myself, it has diffused. You did not, 
indeed, intend your instructions for the world ; 
but as you gave them to a son you loved, it 
may be concluded that you thought them true 
wisdom, and withheld them only because they 
were contrary to the professions of the unen- 
lightened. They have been generally read, and 
tend to introduce the manners, vices, and frivo- 
lous habits of the nation you admired — to your 
own manly nation, who, of all others, once ap- 
proached most nearly to the noble simplicity of 
the Romans. 

Chest. Spare me, Cicero. I have never 
been accustomed to the rough conversation of 
an old Roman. I feel myself little in his com- 
pany. I seem to shrink in his noble presence. 
I never felt my insignificance so forcibly as 
now. French courtiers and French philoso- 
phers, of the age of Louis the Fourteenth, have 
been my models ; and amid the dissipation of 
pleasure, and the hurry of affected vivacity, I 
never considered the gracefulness of virtue, 
and the beauty of an open, sincere, and manly 
character. 



120 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

THE DIFFICULTY OF CONQUERING HABIT. 

There is nothing* which we estimate so fal- 
laciously as the force of our own resolutions, 
nor any fallacy which we so unwillingly and 
tardily detect. He that has resolved a thou- 
sand times, and a thousand times deserted his 
own purpose, yet suffers no abatement of his 
confidence, but still believes himself his own 
master, and able, by innate vigour of soul, to 
press forward to his end, through all the ob- 
structions that inconveniences or delights can 
put in his way. 

That this mistake should prevail for a time 
is very natural. When conviction is present, 
and temptation out of sight, we do not easily 
conceive how any reasonable being can deviate 
from his true interest. What ought to be done 
while it yet hangs only in speculation, is so 
plain and certain, that there is no place for 
doubt ; the whole soul yields itself to the pre- 
dominance of truth, and readily determines to 
do what, when the time of action comes, will 
be at last omitted. 

I believe most men may review all the lives 
that have passed within their observation, with- 
out remembering one efficacious resolution, or 
being able to tell a single instance of a course 
of practice suddenly changed in consequence 
of a change of opinion, or an establishment of 
determination. Many, indeed, alter their con- 
duct, and are not at fifty what they were at 
thirty, but they commonly varied impercepti- 



DIFFICULTY OF CONQUERING HABIT. 121 

bly from themselves, followed the train of ex- 
ternal causes, and rather suffered reformation 
than made it. 

It is not uncommon to charge the difference 
between promise and performance, between 
profession and reality, upon deep design and 
studied deceit ; but the truth is, that there is 
very little hypocrisy in the world ; we do not 
so often endeavour or wish to impose on others 
as ourselves ; we resolve to do right, we hope 
to keep our resolutions, we declare them to 
confirm our own hope, and fix our own incon- 
stancy by calling witnesses of our actions ; but 
at last habit prevails, and those whom we in- 
vited at our triumph, laugh at our defeat. 

Custom is commonly too strong for the most 
resolute resolver, though furnished for the as- 
sault with all the weapons of philosophy. " He 
that endeavours to free himself from an ill 
habit," says Bacon, " must not change too much 
at a time, lest he should be discouraged by diffi- 
culty ; nor too little, for then he will make but 
slow advances." This is a precept which may 
be applauded in a book, but will fail in the 
trial, in which every change will be found too 
great or too little. Those who have been able 
to conquer habit, are like those that are fabled 
to have returned from the realms of Pluto ; 

Pauci, quos sequus amavit 
Jupiter, atque ardens evexit ad aethera virtus. 

They are sufficient to give hope but not secu- 
rity, to animate the contest but not to promise 
victory. 



122 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

Those who are in the power of evil habits, 
must conquer them as they can, and conquered 
they must be, or neither wisdom nor happiness 
can be attained ; but those who are not yet 
subject to their influence, may, by timely cau- 
tion, preserve their freedom, they may effectu- 
ally resolve to escape the tyrant, whom they 
will very vainly resolve to conquer. 



CHASTITY A VALUABLE VIRTUE IN A MAN. 

But as I am now talking to the world, yet 
untainted, I will venture to recommend chastity 
as the noblest male qualification. 

It is, methinks, very unreasonable that the 
difficulty of attaining all other good habits, is 
what makes them honourable; but in this case, 
the very attempt is become very ridiculous; 
but in spite of all the raillery of the world, 
truth is still truth, and will have beauties in- 
separable from it. I should, upon this occasion, 
bring examples of heroic chastity, were I not 
afraid of having my paper thrown away by the 
modish part of the town, who go no farther at 
best, than the mere absence of ill, and are con- 
tented to be rather irreproachable than praise- 
worthy. In this particular, a gentleman in the 
court of Cyrus, reported to his majesty the 
charms and beauty of Panthea; and ended 
his panegyric by telling him, that since he was 
at leisure, he would carry him to visit her. But 
that prince who is a very great man to this day 



CHASTITY IN MAN. 123 

answered the pimp, because he was a man of 
quality, without roughness, and said, with a 
smile, " If I should visit her upon your intro- 
duction, now I have leisure, I don't know but I 
might go again upon her own invitation when I 
ought to be better employed." But when I cast 
about all the instances which I have met with 
in all my reading, I find not one so generous, 
so honest, and so noble, as that of Joseph in 
holy writ. When his master had trusted him 
so unreservedly (to speak in the emphatical 
manner of the scripture,) " He knew not aught 
he had, save the bread which he did eat," he 
was so unhappy as to appear irresistibly beau- 
tiful to his mistress ; but when this shameless 
woman proceeds to solicit him, how gallant is 
his answer ! " Behold, my master wotteth not 
what is with me in the house, and hath com- 
mitted all that he hath to my hand ; there is 
none greater in the house than I, neither hath 
he kept back any thing from me but thee, be- 
cause thou art his wife." The same argument, 
which a base mind would have made to itself 
for committing the evil, was to this brave man 
the greatest motive for forbearing it, that he 
could do it with impunity; the malice and 
falsehood of the disappointed woman naturally 
arose on that occasion, and there is but a short 
step from the practice of virtue to the hatred 
of it. It would, therefore, be worth serious 
consideration in both sexes, and the matter is 
of importance enough to them, to ask them- 
selves whether they would change lightness of 



124 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

heart, indolence of mind, cheerful meals, un- 
troubled slumbers, and gentle dispositions, for 
a constant pruriency which shuts out all things 
that are great or indifferent, clouds the imagi- 
nation with insensibility and prejudice to all 
manner of delight, but that which is common 
to all creatures that extend their species. 

A loose behaviour and an inattention to every 
thing that is serious, flowing from some degree 
of this petulancy, is observable in the general- 
ity of the youth of both sexes in this age. It 
is the one common face of most public meet- 
ings, and breaks in upon the sobriety, I will not 
say severity, that we ought to exercise in 
churches. The pert boys and flippant girls are 
but faint followers of those in the same inclina- 
tions at more advanced years. I know not 
who can oblige them to mend their manners ; 
all that I pretend to, is to enter my protest, 
that they are neither fine gentlemen nor fine 
ladies for this behaviour. As for the portrait- 
ures which I would propose, as the images of 
agreeable men and women, if they are not imi- 
tated or regarded, I can only answer, as I re- 
member Mr. Dryden did on the like occasion, 
when a young fellow, just come from the play 
of Cleomenes, told him in raillery against the 
continency of his principal character, If I had 
been alone with a lady, I should not have 
passed my time like your Spartan ; " That may 
be," answered the bard with a very grave face ; 
" but give me leave to tell you, Sir, you are no 
hero." 



CHARACTERS OF GAMESTERS. 125 



THE CHARACTERS OF GAMESTERS. 

The whole tribe of gamesters may be ranked 
under two divisions. Every man who makes 
carding, dicing, and betting his daily practice, 
is either a dupe or a sharper ; two characters 
equally the objects of envy and admiration. 
The dupe is generally a person of great fortune 
and weak intellects, 

Who will as tenderly be led by the nose, 
As asses are. Shakspeare. 

He plays, not that he has any delight in cards 
and dice, but because it is the fashion ; and if 
whist or hazard be proposed, he will no more 
refuse to make one at the table, than among a 
set of hard drinkers, he would object drinking 
his glass in turn, because he is not dry. 

There are some few instances of men of 
sense, as well as family and fortune, who have 
been dupes and bubbles. Such an unaccount- 
able itch of play has seized them, that they 
have sacrificed every thing to it, and have 
seemed wedded to seven's the main, and the 
odd trick. There is not a more melancholy 
object than a gentleman of sense thus infatu- 
ated. He makes himself and family a prey 
to a gang of villains more infamous than high- 
waymen ; and perhaps when his ruin is com- 
pleted, he is glad to join with the very scoun- 
drels that destroyed him, and live upon the 
spoil of others, whom he can draw into the 
same follies that proved so fatal to himself. 



126 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

Here we may take a survey of the character 
of a sharper ; and that he may have no room 
to complain of foul play, let us begin with his 
excellencies. You will perhaps be startled, 
Mr. Town, when 1 mention the excellencies of 
a sharper ; but a gamester who makes a decent 
figure in the world, must be endued with many- 
amiable qualities, which would undoubtedly ap- 
pear with great lustre, were they not eclipsed 
by the odious character affixed to his trade. In 
order to carry on the common business of his 
profession, he must be a man of quick and live- 
ly parts, attended with a stoical calmness of 
temper, and a constant presence of mind. He 
must smile at the loss of thousands; and is not 
to be discomposed though ruin stares him in the 
face. As he is to live among the great, he 
must not want politeness and affability ; he 
must be submissive, but not servile ; he must 
be master of an ingenuous, liberal air, and have 
a seeming openness of behaviour. 

These must be the chief accomplishments 
of our hero: but lest I should be accused of 
giving too favourable a likeness of him, now we 
have seen his outside, let us take a view of his 
heart. There we shall find avarice the main- 
spring that moves the whole machine. Every 
gamester is eaten up with avarice; and when 
this passion is in full force, it is more strongly 
predominant than any other. It conquers even 
lust ; and conquers it more effectually than age. 
At sixty, we look at a fine woman with plea- 
sure ; but when cards and dice have engrossed 



CHARACTERS OF GAMESTERS. 127 

our attention, women and all their charms are 
slighted at five-and-twenty. A thorough game- 
ster renounces Venus and Cupid for Plutus and 
Ames-ace, and owns no mistress of his heart 
except the queen of trumps. His insatiable 
avarice can only be gratified by hyprocrisy ;- so 
that all those specious virtues already mention- 
ed, and which, if real, might be turned to the 
benefit of mankind, must be directed in a game- 
ster towards the destruction of his fellow-crea- 
tures. His quick and lively parts serve only 
to instruct and assist him in the most dextrous 
method of packing the cards and cogging the 
dice ; his fortitude, which enables him to lose 
thousands without emotion, must often be prac- 
tised against the stings and reproaches of his 
conscience, and his liberal deportment and af- 
fected openness is a specious veil to recommend 
and conceal the blackest villany. 

It is now necessary to take a second survey 
of his heart; and as we have seen its vices, let 
us consider its miseries. The covetous man, 
who has not sufficient courage or inclination to 
increase his fortune by bets, cards, or dice, but 
is contented to hoard up thousands by thefts 
less public, or by cheats less liable to uncer- 
tainty, lives in a state of perpetual suspicion 
and terror; but the avaricious fears of the 
gamester are infinitely greater. He is con- 
stantly to wear a mask : and like Monsieur St. 
Croix, coadjuteur to that famous empoisonneuse, 
Madame Brinvillier, if his mask falls off, he 



128 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

runs the hazard of being suffocated by the 
stench of his own poisons. I have seen some 
examples of this sort, not many years ago, at 
White's. I am uncertain whether the wretches 
are still alive : but if they are still alive, they 
breathe like toads under ground, crawling 
amidst old walls, and paths long since unfre- 
quented. 

But supposing that the sharper's hypocrisy 
remains undetected, in what a state of mind 
must that man be, whose fortune depends on 
the insincerity of his heart, the disingenuity 
of his behaviour, and the false bias of his dice ! 
What sensations must he suppress, when he is 
obliged to smile, although he is provoked ; 
when he must look serene in the height of 
despair ; and when he must act the stoic with- 
out the consolation of one virtuous sentiment, 
or one moral principle ! How unhappy must he 
be even in that situation from which he hopes 
to reap most benefit; I mean amidst stars, gar- 
ters, and the various herds of nobility ! Their 
lordships are not always in a humour to play : 
they choose to laugh ; they choose to joke ; in 
the mean time our hero must patiently await 
the good hour, and must not only join in the 
laugh, and applaud the joke, but must humour 
every turn and caprice to which that set of 
spoiled children, called bucks of quality, are 
liable. Surely his brother Thicket's employ- 
ment, of sauntering on horseback in the wind 
and rain till the Reading coach passes through 



CHARACTERS OF GAMESTERS. 129 

Smallberry-green, is the more eligible, and no 
less honest occupation. 

The sharper has also frequently the mortifi- 
cation of being thwarted in his designs. Op- 
portunities of fraud will not for ever present 
themselves. The false dice cannot be constant- 
ly produced, nor the packed cards always be 
placed upon the table. It is then our gamester 
is in the greatest danger. But even then, 
when he is in the power of fortune, and has 
nothing but mere luck and fair play on his side, 
he must stand the brunt, and perhaps give 
away his last guinea, as coolly as he would lend 
a nobleman a shilling. 

Our hero is now going off the stage, and his 
catastrophe is very tragical. The next news 
we hear of him is his death, achieved by his 
own hand, and with his own pistol. An inquest 
is bribed, he is buried at midnight — and forgot- 
ten before sunrise. 

These two portraits of a sharper, wherein I 
have endeavoured to show different likenesses 
in the same man, put me in mind of an old 
print, which I remember at Oxford, of Count 
Guiscard. At first sight he was exhibited in a 
full-bottomed wig, a hat and feather, embroi- 
dered clothes, diamond buttons, and the full 
court dress of those days ; but by pulling a 
string, the folds of the paper were shifted, the 
face only remained, a new body came forward, 
and Count Guiscard appeared to be a devil. 
9 



130 



THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 



CONVERSATION. 



There is no part, perhaps, of social life 
which affords more real .satisfaction than those 
hours which one passes in rational and unre- 
served conversation. That conversation, how- 
ever, may answer the ends for which it was 
designed, the parties who are to join in it must 
come together with a determined resolution to 
please, and to be pleased. 

In the conduct of it, be not eager to inter- 
rupt others, or uneasy at being yourself inter- 
rupted ; since you speak either to amuse or in- 
struct the company, or to receive those benefits 
from it. Give all, therefore, leave to speak in 
turn. Hear with patience, and answer with 
precision. Inattention is ill manners ; it shows 
contempt; and contempt is never forgiven. 

Trouble not the company with your own 
private concerns, as you do not love to be 
troubled with those of others. Yours are as 
little to them as theirs are to you. You will 
need no other rule whereby to judge of this 
matter. 

Contrive, but with dexterity and propriety, 
that each person may have an opportunity of 
discoursing on the subject with which he is best 
acquainted. He will be pleased, and you will 
be informed. By observing this rule, every one 
has it in his power to assist in rendering con- 
versation agreeable , since, though he may not 
choose, or be qualified, to say much himself, he 



CONVERSATION. 131 

can propose questions to those who are able to 
answer them. 

Avoid stories, unless short, pointed, and quite 
a-propos. He who deals in them, says Swift, 
must either have a very large stock, or a good 
memory, or must often change his company. 
Some have a set of them strung together like 
onions; they take possession of the conversa- 
tion by an early introduction of one, and then 
you must have the whole rope; and there is an 
end of every thing else, perhaps, for that meet- 
ing, though you may have heard all twenty 
times before. 

Talk often, but not long. The talent of 
haranguing private company is insupportable. 
Senators and barristers are apt to be guilty of 
this fault; and members who never harangue 
in the house, will often do it out of the house. 
If the majority of the company be naturally 
silent, or cautious, the conversation will flag, 
unless it be often renewed by one among them 
who can start new subjects. Forbear, however, 
if possible, to broach a second before the first 
is out, lest your stock should not last, and you 
should be obliged to come back to the old bar- 
rel. There are those who will repeatedly 
cross upon and break into the conversation with 
a fresh topic, till they have touched upon all, 
and exhausted none. Economy here is neces- 
sary for most people. 

Laugh not at your own wit and humour; 
leave that to the company. 



132 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

When the conversation is flowing in a serious 
and useful channel, never interrupt it by an ill- 
timed jest. The stream is scattered, and can- 
not be again collected. 

Discourse not in a whisper, or half- voice, to 
your next neighbour. It is ill-breeding, and, in 
some degree, a fraud ; conversation-stock being, 
as one has well observed, a joint and common 
property. 

In reflections on absent people, go no farther 
than you would go if they were present. " I 
resolve (says bishop Beveridge) never to speak 
of a man's virtues to his face, nor of his faults 
behind his back :" — A golden rule ! the obser- 
vation of which would, at one stroke, banish 
flattery and defamation from the earth. 



HOW TO PLEASE IN CONVERSATION. 

None of the desires dictated by vanity is 
more general, or less blameable than that of 
being distinguished for the arts of conversation, 
other accomplishments may be possessed with- 
out opportunity of exerting them, or wanted 
without danger that the defect can often be re- 
marked ; but as no man can live otherwise than 
in a hermitage without hourly pleasure or vex- 
ation, from the fondness or neglect of those 
about him, the faculty of giving pleasure is of 
continual use. Few are more frequently en- 
vied than those who have the power of forcing 



CONVERSATION. 133 

attention wherever they come, whose entrance 
is considered as a promise of felicity, and whose 
departure is lamented, like the recess of the 
sun from northern climates, as a privation of all 
that enlivens fancy and inspires gaiety. 

It is apparent that to excellence in this valu- 
able art some peculiar qualifications are neces- 
sary ; for every man's experience will inform 
him that the pleasure which men are able to 
give in conversation holds no stated proportion 
to their knowledge or their virtue. Many find 
their way to the tables and the parties of those 
who never consider them as of the least import- 
ance in any other place ; we have all, at one 
time or other, been content to love those whom 
we could not esteem, and been persuaded to 
try the dangerous experiment of admitting him 
for a companion whom we know to be too ig- 
norant for a counsellor, and too treacherous for 
a friend. 

He that would please must rarely aim at 
such excellence as depresses his hearers in 
their own opinion, or debars them from the 
hope of contributing reciprocally to the enter- 
tainment of the company. Merriment extort- 
ed by sallies of imagination, sprightliness of 
remark, or quickness of reply, is too often what 
the Latins call, the Sardinian laughter, a dis- 
tortion of face without gladness of the heart. 

For this reason no style of conversation is 
more extensively acceptable than the narra- 
tive. He who has stored his memory with 
slight anecdotes, private incidents, and person- 



134 THE AMERICAN^ GENTLEMAN. 

al peculiarities, seldom fails to find his au- 
dience favourable. Almost every man listens 
with eagerness to extemporary history; for 
almost every man has some real or imaginary 
connexion with a celebrated character, some 
desire to advance or oppose a rising name. 
Vanity often co-operates with curiosity. He 
that is a hearer in one place, qualifies himself 
to become a speaker in another ; for though he 
cannot comprehend a series of argument, or 
transport the volatile spirit of wit without 
evaporation, yet he thinks himself able to trea- 
sure up the various incidents of a story, and 
please his hopes with the information which he 
shall give to some inferior society. 

Narratives are for the most part heard with- 
out envy, because they are not supposed to im- 
ply any intellectual qualities above the common 
rate. To be acquainted with facts not yet 
echoed by plebeian mouths, may happen to one 
man as well as to another, and to relate them 
when they are known, has in appearance so 
very little difficulty, that every one concludes 
himself equal to the task. 



GOOD MANNERS. 

Good Manners, according to Swift, is the 
art of making those people easy with whom we 
converse. 

Whoever makes the fewest persons uneasy, 
is the best bred in the company. 



GOOD MANNERS. 135 

As the best law is founded upon reason, so 
are the best manners. And as some lawyers 
have introduced unreasonable things into com- 
mon law; so likewise many teachers have in- 
troduced absurd things into common good man- 
ners. 

Our principal part of this art is to suit our 
behaviour to the three several degrees of men; 
our superiors, our equals, and those below us. 

For instance, to press either of the two former 
to eat or drink is a breach of manners; but an 
inferior must be thus treated, or else it will 
be difficult to persuade them that they are 
welcome. 

Pride, ill-nature, and want of sense, are the 
three great sources of ill-manners; without 
some one of these defects, no man will be- 
have himself ill for want of experience; or of 
what, in the language of fools, is called know- 
ing the world. 

" I defy (proceeds our author) any one to 
assign an incident wherein reason will not 
direct us what we are to say or to do in com- 
pany, if we are not misled by pride or ill-na- 
ture. Therefore, I insist that good sense is the 
principal foundation of good manners; but be- 
cause the former is a gift which very few 
among mankind are possessed of, therefore all 
the civilized nations of the world have agreed 
upon fixing some rules for common behaviour, 
best suited to their general customs, or fancies, 
as a kind of artificial good sense to supply the 
defects of reason. Without which, the gentle- 



13(3 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

manly part of dunces would be perpetually at 
cuffs, as they seldom fail when they happen to 
be drunk, or engaged in squabbles about, wo- 
men or play. And, God be thanked, there 
hardly happeneth a duel in a year, which may 
not be imputed to one of these three motives. 
Upon which account I should be exceedingly 
sorry to find the legislature make any new laws 
against the practice of duelling; because the 
methods are easy, and many, for a wise man to 
avoid a quarrel with honour, or engage in it 
with innocence. And I can discover no politi- 
cal evil, in suffering bullies, sharpers, and rakes, 
to rid the world of each other by a method of 
their own, where the law hath not been able 
to find an expedient. 

"As the common forms of good manners 
were intended for regulating the conduct of 
those who have weak understandings ; so they 
have been corrupted by the persons for whose 
use they were contrived. For these people 
have fallen into a needless and endless way of 
multiplying ceremonies, which have been ex- 
tremely troublesome to those who practise them, 
and insupportable to every body else ; inso- 
much that wise men are often more uneasy at 
the over-civility of these refiners, than they 
could possibly be in the conversations of pea- 
sants or mechanics. 

" The impertinencies of this ceremonial be- 
haviour are nowhere better seen than at those 
tables where ladies preside, who value them- 
selves upon account of their good-breeding; 



GOOD MANNERS. 137 

where a man must reckon upon passing an 
hour without doing any one thing he hath a 
mind to, unless he will be so hardy as to break 
through all the settled decorum of the family. 
She determines what he loveth best, and how 
much he shall eat; and if the master of the 
house happeneth to be of the same disposition, 
he proceedeth in the same tyrannical manner 
to prescribe in the drinking part : at the same 
time you are under the necessity of answering 
a thousand apologies for your entertainment. 
And although a good deal of this humour is 
pretty well worn off among many people of 
the best fashion, yet too much of it still remain- 
eth, especially in the country ; where an honest 
gentleman assured me, that having been kept 
four days against his will at a friend's house, 
with all the circumstance of hiding his boots, 
locking up the stable, and other contrivances 
of the like nature, he could not remember, 
from the moment he came into the house to the 
moment he left it, any one thing wherein his 
inclination was not directly contradicted ; as if 
the whole family had entered into a combina- 
tion to torment him. 

" But, besides all this, it would be endless to 
recount the many foolish and ridiculous acci- 
dents I have observed among these unfortunate 
proselytes to ceremony. I have seen a duchess 
fairly knocked down by the precipitancy of 
an officious coxcomb running to save her the 
trouble of opening a door. I remember, upon 
a birth-day at court, a great lady was rendered 



138 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

utterly disconsolate, by a dish of sauce let fall 
by a page directly upon her head-dress and 
brocade, while she gave a sudden turn to her 
elbow upon some point of ceremony with the 
person who sat next to her. Monsieur Buys, 
the Dutch envoy, whose politics and manners 
were much of a size, brought a son with him 
about thirteen years old to a great table at 
court. The boy and his father, whatever they 
put on their plates, they first offered round in 
order, to every person in the company ; so that 
we could not get a minute's quiet during the 
whole dinner. At last their two plates happen- 
ed to encounter, and with so much violence, 
that, being china, they broke in twenty pieces, 
and stained half the company with wet sweat- 
meats and cream. 

" There is a pedantry in manners, as in all 
arts and sciences, and sometimes in trades. 
Pedantry is properly the over-rating any kind 
of knowledge we pretend to. And if that kind 
of knowledge be a trifle in itself, the pedantry 
is the greater. For which reason I look upon 
fiddlers, dancing-masters, heralds, masters of 
the ceremony, &c, to be greater pedants than 
Lipsius, or the elder Scaliger. With these kind 
of pedants, the court, while I knew it, was al- 
ways plentifully stocked : I mean from the 
gentleman-usher (at least) inclusive, downward 
to the gentleman porter; who are, generally 
speaking, the most insignificant race of people 
that this island can afford, and with the small- 
est tincture of good manners, which is the only 



GOOD MANNERS. 139 

trade they possess. For being wholly illiterate, 
conversing chiefly with each other, they reduce 
the whole system of breeding within the forms 
and circles of their several offices : and as 
they are below the notice of ministers, they 
live and die in court under all revolutions, with 
great obsequiousness to those who are in any 
degree of credit or favour, and with rudeness 
and insolence to every body else. From whence 
I have long concluded, that good manners are 
not a plant of the court-growth : for if they 
were, those people who have understandings 
directly of a level for such acquirements, and 
who have served such long apprenticeships to 
nothing else, would certainly have picked them 
up. For as to the great officers who attend the 
prince's person or councils, or preside in his 
family, they are a transient body, who have no 
better a title to good manners than their neigh- 
bours, nor will probably have recourse to gen- 
tlemen-ushers for instruction. So that I know 
little to be learned at court on this head, except 
in the material circumstance of dress ; wherein 
the authority of the maids of honour must in- 
deed be allowed to be almost equal to that of a 
favourite actress. 

<; I remember a passage my lord Bolingbroke 
told me : That going to receive prince Eugene 
of Savoy at his landing, in order to conduct 
him immediately to the queen, the prince said 
he was much concerned that he could not see her 
majesty that night : for Monsieur Hoffman (who 
was then by) had assured his highness, that he 



140 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

could not be admitted into her presence with a 
tied-up periwig; that his equipage was not ar- 
rived ; and that he had endeavoured in vain to 
borrow a long one among all his valets and 
pages. My lord turned the matter to a jest, 
and brought the prince to her majesty; for 
which he was highly censured by the whole 
tribe of gentlemen-ushers ; among whom Mon- 
sieur Hoffman, an old dull resident of the em- 
perors, had picked up this material point of 
ceremony ; and which, I believe, was the best 
lesson he had learned in twenty-five years' resi- 
dence. 

" I make a difference between good manners 
and good breeding; although, in order to vary 
my expression, I am sometimes forced to con- 
found them. By the first, I only understand 
the art of remembering, and applying, certain 
settled forms of general behaviour. But good 
breeding is of a much larger extent : for be- 
sides an uncommon degree of literature suffi- 
cient to qualify a gentleman for reading a play, 
or a political pamphlet, it taketh in a great 
compass of knowledge; no less than that of 
dancing, fighting, gaming, making the circle 
of Italy, riding the great horse, and speaking 
French, not to mention some other secondary 
or subaltern accomplishments, which are more 
easily acquired. So that the difference be- 
tween good breeding and good manners lieth in 
this, That the former cannot be attained to by 
the best understandings without study and la-' 
bour; whereas a tolerable degree of reason will 



GOOD MANNERS. 141 

instruct us in every part of good manners with- 
out other assistance. 

" 1 can think of nothing more useful upon 
this subject, than to point out some particulars 
wherein the very essentials of good manners 
are concerned, the neglect or perverting of 
which doth very much disturb the good com- 
merce of the world, by introducing ^a traffic of 
a mutual uneasiness in most companies. 

" First, a necessary part of good manners is 
a punctual observance of time at our own 
dwellings, or those of others, or at third places ; 
whether upon matters of civility, business, or 
diversion; which rule, though it be a plain 
dictate of common reason, yet the greatest 
minister I ever knew, was the greatest tres- 
passer against it; by which all his business 
doubled upon him, and placed him in a contin- 
ual arrear. Upon which I often used to rally 
him as deficient in point of good manners. I 
have known more than one ambassador, and 
secretary of state, with a very moderate por- 
tion of intellectuals, execute their office with 
great success and applause, by the mere force 
of exactness and regularity. If you duly ob- 
serve time for the service of another, it doubles 
the obligation; if upon your own account, it 
would be manifest folly, as well as ingratitude, 
to neglect it ; if both are concerned, to make 
your equal or inferior attend on you to his own 
disadvantage, is pride and injustice. 

"Ignorance of forms cannot properly be 
styled ill-manners: because forms are subject 



142 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

to frequent changes ; and consequently, being 
not founded upon reason, are beneath a wise 
man's regard. Besides, they vary in every 
country, and after a short period of time vary 
frequently in the same : so that a man who 
travelleth, must needs be at first a stranger to 
them in every court through which he passeth; 
and perhaps, at his return, as much a stranger 
in his own ; and, after all, they are easier to be 
remembered or forgotten than faces or names. 

"Indeed, among the many impertinencies 
that superficial young men bring with them 
from abroad, this bigotry of forms is one of 
the principal, and more predominant than the 
rest ; who look upon them not only as if they 
were matters capable of admitting of choice, 
but even as points of importance ; and there- 
fore are zealous upon all occasions to intro- 
duce and propagate the new forms and fashions 
they have brought back with them : so that, 
usually speaking, the worst-bred person in the 
company is a young traveller just arrived from 
abroad." 



POLITENESS. 



Politeness means elegance of manners or 
good breeding: Lord Chesterfield calls it the 
art of pleasing. It has also been called an 
artificial good nature ; and indeed good nature 
is the foundation of true politeness; without 



POLITENESS. 143 

which art will make but a very indifferent 
figure, and will generally defeat its own ends. 
" Where compliance and assent, caution and 
candour, says an elegant essayist, arise from a 
natural tenderness of disposition and softness 
of nature, as they sometimes do, they are al- 
most amiable and certainly excusable; but as 
the effects of artifice, they must be despised. 
The persons who possses them are indeed often 
themselves dupes of their own deceit, when 
they imagine others are deluded by it. For ex- 
cessive art always betrays itself; and many, 
who do not openly take notice of the deceiver, 
from motives of delicacy and tenderness for 
his character, secretly deride and warmly re- 
sent his ineffectual subtilty." 

" True politeness (says another author) is 
that continual attention which humanity in- 
spires us with, both to please others, and to 
avoid giving them offence. The surly plain- 
dealer exclaims loudly against this virtue, and 
prefers his own shocking bluntness and Gothic 
freedom. The courtier and fawning flatterer, 
on the contrary, substitute in its place insipid 
compliments, cringings, and a jargon of un- 
meaning sentences. The one blames polite- 
ness, because he takes it for a vice, and the 
other is the occasion of this, because that which 
he practises is really so." 

Both these characters act from motives equal- 
ly absurd, though not equally criminal. The 
conduct of the artful flatterer is guided by self- 
love, while that of the plain-dealer is the effect 



144 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of ignorance; for nothing is more certain, than 
that the desire of pleasing is founded on the 
mutual wants and the mutual wishes of man- 
kind ; on the pleasure which we wish to derive 
from society, and the character which we wish 
to acquire. Men having discovered that it was 
necessary and agreeable to unite for their com- 
mon interests, they have made laws to repress 
the wicked, they have settled the duties of so- 
cial life, and connected the idea of respectabil- 
ity with the practice of those duties ; and after 
having prescribed the regulations necessary to 
their common safety, they have endeavoured to 
render their commerce with one another agree- 
able, by establishing the rules of politeness 
and good breeding. Indeed, as an elegant 
author already quoted remarks, the philosopher 
who, in the austerity of his virtue, should con- 
demn the art of pleasing as unworthy cultiva- 
tion, would deserve little attention from man- 
kind, and might be dismissed to his solitary 
tub, like his brother Diogenes. It is the dictate 
of humanity, that we should endeavour to ren- 
der ourselves agreeable to those in whose com- 
pany we are destined to travel in the journey 
of life. It is our interest, it is the source of 
perpetual satisfaction ; it is one of our most im- 
portant duties as men, and particularly required 
in the professor of Christianity. 

It is needless to particularize the motives 
which have induced men to practise the agree- 
able virtues; for, from whatever source the 
desire o^ pleasing proceed?, it has always in- 



POLITENESS. 145 

creased in proportion to the general civilization 
of mankind. In a rude state of society, plea- 
sure is limited in its sources and in its opera- 
tion. When the wants of mankind, and the 
means of attaining them, are few, personal ap- 
plication is necessary to gratify them, and it is 
generally sufficient ; by which means an indi- 
vidual becomes more independent than can 
possibly be the case in civilized life, and of 
course less disposed to give or receive assist- 
ance. Confined to the solitary wish of furnish- 
ing means for his own happiness, he is little 
intent on the pleasures of conversation and so- 
ciety. His desire of communication is equal to 
the extent of his knowledge. But as soon as 
the natural wants of life are filled up, we find 
unoccupied time, and we labour hard to make 
it pass in an agreeable manner. It is then we 
perceive the advantage of possessing the ration- 
al nature, and the delights of mutual inter- 
course. When we consider society in that 
state of perfection which enables a great part 
of the members of it to pursue at leisure the 
pleasures of conversation, we should expect, 
both from the ease of acquitting ourselves to 
the satisfaction of our associates, and from the 
advantages arising from this conduct, that the 
art of pleasing might be reduced to a few 
plain and simple rules, and that these might 
be derived from a slight attention to general 
manners. 

The art of pleasing, in our intercourse with 
mankind, is indeed so simple, that it requires 
10 



146 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

nothing more than the constant desire to please 
in all our words and actions; and the practice 
of it can neither wound a man's self-love, nor 
be prejudicial to his interest in any possible 
situation. 

But though this be certain, it is doubtless 
less attended to than in reason it ought to be. 
Each particular man is so zealous to promote 
his own ends or his own pleasure, as to forget 
that his neighbour has claims equal to his own ; 
that every man that enters into company gives 
up for the time a great many of his peculiar 
rights; and that he then forms part of an asso- 
ciation, met together not for the particular 
gratification of any one, but for the purpose of 
general satisfaction. 

The qualities essential in the art of pleasing, 
are virtue, knowledge, and manners. All the 
virtues which form a good and respectable 
character in a moral sense are essential to the 
art of pleasing. This must be an established 
principle, because it depends on the wants and 
mutual relations of society. In all affairs of 
common business, we delight in transacting 
with men in whom we can place confidence, 
and in whom we find integrity ; but truth is so 
naturally pleasing, and the common affairs of 
life are so interwoven with social intercourse, 
that we derive abundantly more satisfaction 
from an honest character than from specious 
manners. f* Should you be suspected (says 
Chesterfield) of injustice, malignity, perfidy, 
jying, &c, all the parts and knowledge of the 



POLITENESS. 147 

world will never procure you esteem, friend- 
ship, and respect." 

The first of virtues in our commerce with 
the world, and the chief in giving pleasure to 
those with whom we associate, is inviolable 
sincerity of heart. We can never be too 
punctual in the most scrupulous tenderness to 
our moral character iu this respect, nor too 
nicely affected in preserving our integrity. 

The peculiar modes, even of the fashionable 
world, which are founded in dissimulation, and 
which on this account have induced several to 
recommend the practice, would not prevent a 
man of the highest integrity from being accept- 
able in the very best company. Acknowledged 
sincerity gives the same ornament to charac- 
ter that modesty does to manners. It would 
abundantly atone for the want of ridiculous 
ceremony, or false and unmeaning professions ; 
and it would in no respect diminish the lustre 
of a noble air, or the perfection of an elegant 
address. 

If integrity be the foundation of that charac- 
ter which is most generally acceptable, or 
which, in other words, possesses the power of 
pleasing in the highest degree, humanity and 
modesty are its highest ornaments. 

The whole art of pleasing, as far as the vir- 
tues are concerned, may be derived from the 
one or other of these sources. Humanity com- 
prehends the display of every thing amiable to 
others ; modesty removes or suppresses every 
thing offensive in ourselves. 



148 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

This modesty, however, is not inconsistent 
with firmness and dignity of character; it 
arises rather from the knowledge of our imper- 
fection compared with a certain standard, than 
from conscious ignorance of what we ought to 
know. We must therefore distinguish between 
this modesty and what the French call rnau- 
vaise honte. The one is the unaffected and 
unassuming principle which leads us to give 
preference to the merit of others, the otheir is 
the awkward struggling of nature over her 
own infirmities. The first gives an additional 
lustre to every good quality ; while some peo- 
ple, from feeling the pain and inconveniency 
of the mauvaise honte, have rushed into the 
other extreme, and turned impudent, as cowards 
sometimes grow desperate from excess of dan- 
ger. The medium between these two extremes 
marks out the well-bred man ; he feels himself 
firm and easy in all companies, is modest with- 
out being bashful, and steady without being 
impudent. 

A man possessing the amiable virtues is still 
farther prepared to please, by having in his 
own mind a perpetual fund of satisfaction and 
entertainment. He is put to no trouble in con- 
cealing thoughts which it would be disgraceful 
to avow, and he is not anxious to display virtues 
which his daily conversation and his constant 
looks render visible. 

The next ingredient in the art of pleasing, 
is to possess a correct and enlightened under- 
standing, and a fund of rational knowledge. 



POLITENESS. 149 

With virtue and modesty we must be able to 
entertain and instruct those with whom we 
associate. 

The faculty of communicating ideas is pecu- 
liar to man, and the pleasure which he derives 
from the interchange alone is one of the most 
important of his blessings. Mankind are formed 
with numberless wants, and with a mutual 
power of assisting each other. It is a beautiful 
and happy part of the same perfect plan, that 
they are likewise formed to delight in each 
other's company, and in the mutual inter- 
change of their thoughts. The different spe- 
cies of communication, in a highly polished 
age, are as numerous as the different ranks, 
employments and occupations of men ; and in- 
deed the knowledge which men wish to com- 
municate takes its tinge from their peculiar 
possession or occupation. 

Thus commercial men delight to talk of their 
trade, and of the nature of public business ; 
men of pleasure, who wish merely to vary or 
quicken their amusements, are in conversation 
light, trifling, and insincere ; and the literati 
delight to dwell on new books, learned men, 
and important discoveries in science or in arts. 
But as the different classes of men will fre- 
quently meet together, all parties must so con- 
trive matters, as to combine the useful and 
agreeable together, so as to give the greatest 
delight at the time, and the greatest pleasure 
on reflection. An attention to these principles 
would make the man of pleasure and the man 



150 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of learning meet together on equal terms, and 
derive mutual advantage from their different 
qualifications. With due attention to such 
ideas, we proceed to mention the kinds of 
knowledge which are most fitted for conversa- 
tion. Those who wish to please should par- 
ticularly endeavour to be informed in those 
points which most generally occur. An accurate 
or extensive knowledge on learned subjects is 
by no means sufficient; we must also have an 
accurate and extensive knowledge of the com- 
mon occurrences of life. 

It is the knowledge of mankind, of govern- 
ments, of history, of public characters, and of 
the springs which put the great and the little 
actions of the world in motion, which give 
real pleasure and rational instruction. The 
knowledge which we communicate must in 
some shape be interesting to those to whom we 
communicate it; of that nature, that the desire 
of receiving it may overbalance every kind of 
disgust, excited too often on the score of envy 
and self-love, against those who happen to pos- 
sess superior endowments, and at the same 
time of that importance, as to elevate the 
thoughts somewhat above the actions and the 
faults of the narrow circle formed in our own 
immediate neighbourhood. On this account it 
is recommended by an author who fully knew 
mankind, as a maxim of great importance in 
the art of pleasing, to be acquainted with the 
private character of those men, who, from their 
station or their actions, are making a figure in 



POLITENESS. 151 

the world. We naturally wish to see such men 
in their retired and undisguised moments ; and 
he who can gratify us is highly acceptable* 
History of all kinds, fitly introduced, and occa- 
sionally embellished with pleasing anecdotes, 
is a chief part of our entertainment in the in- 
tercourse of life. This is receiving instruc- 
tion, without exciting much envy; it depends 
on memory, and memory is one of those talents 
the possession of which we least grudge to our 
neighbour. Our knowledge of history, at the 
same time, must not appear in long and tedious 
details; but in apt and well-chosen allusions* 
calculated to illustrate the particular subject 
of conversation. But the knowledge most ne- 
cessary is that of the human heart. This is 
acquired by constant observation on the man- 
ners and maxims of the world, connected with 
that which passes in our own minds. This 
leads us from the common details of conduct, 
from slander and defamation, to the sources 
and principles of action, and enables us to en- 
ter into what may be called the philosophy of 
conversation. We may see both the practicabil- 
ity of this kind of discourse, and the nature of it* 
in the following lines of Horace : 

Sermo oritur, non de villis domibusve alienis; 

Nee male necne Lepos saltet : sed quod magis ad nos 

Pertinet, et nescire malum est, agitamus : utrumne 

Divitiis homines, an sint virtute beati? 

duidve ad amicitias, usus rectumne, trahat nos? 

Et quse sit natura boni, summumque quid ejus ? &c. 



152 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

By this means constant materials are sup- 
plied for free, easy, and spirited communica- 
tion. The restraints which are imposed on 
mankind, either from what their own charac- 
ter may suffer, or from the apprehension of 
giving offence to others, are entirely taken 
off, and they have a sufficient quantity of cur- 
rent coin for all the common purposes of life. 

In addition to virtue and knowledge, which 
are the chief ingredients in the art of pleasing, 
we have to consider graceful and easy manners. 
Lord Chesterfield indeed considers these as the 
most essential and important part; as if the 
diamond received its whole value from the 
polish. But though he is unquestionably mis- 
taken, there is yet a certain sweetness of man- 
ners which is particularly engaging in our 
commerce with the world. It is that which 
constitutes the character which the French, 
under the appellation of Vaimable, so much 
talk of, and so justly value. This is not so 
easily described as felt. It is the compound 
result of different things; as complaisance, a 
flexibility, but not a servility of manners, an 
air of softness in the countenance, gesture, and 
expression, equally whether you concur or dif- 
fer with the person you converse with. This 
is particularly to be studied when we are 
obliged to refuse a favour asked of us, or to say 
what in itself cannot be very agreeable to the 
person to whom we say it. It is then the ne- 
cessary gilding of a disagreeable pill. But 
this, which may be called the suaviter in modo 9 



POLITENESS. 153 

would degenerate and sink into a mean and 
timid complaisance and passiveness, if not sup- 
ported by firmness and dignity of character. 
Hence the Latin sentence, suaviter in modo, 
foriiter in re, becomes a useful and important 
maxim in life. 

Genuine easy manners result from a con- 
stant attention to the relations of persons, 
things, times, and places. Were we to con- 
verse with one greatly our superior, we are to 
be as easy and unembarrassed as with our 
equals ; but yet every look, word* and action, 
should imply, without any kind of servile flat- 
tery, the greatest respect. In mixed compa- 
nies, with our equals, greater ease and liberty 
are allowed; but they too have their proper 
limits. There is a social respect necessary. 
Our words, gestures, and attitudes, have a 
greater degree of latitude, though not an 
unbounded one. That easiness of carriage and 
behaviour which is exceedingly engaging, 
widely "differs from negligence and inattention, 
and by no means implies that one may do what- 
ever he pleases; it only means, that one is not 
to be stiff, formal, or embarrassed, disconcerted 
and ashamed ; but it requires great attention 
to, and a scrupulous observation of, what the 
French call les bienfeances ; a word which im- 
plies " decorum, good breeding, and propriety." 
Whatever we ought to do, is to be done with 
ease and unconcern; whatever is improper, 
must not be done at all. In mixed companies, 
also, different ages and sexes are to be differ- 



154 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ently addressed. Although we are to be equally 
easy with all, old age particularly requires to 
be treated with a degree of deference and re- 
gard. It is a good general rule, to accustom 
ourselves to have a kind feeling to every thing 
connected with man ; and when this is the 
case, we shall seldom err in the application. 
Another important point in the bienfeances is, 
not to run our own present humour and dispo- 
sition indiscriminately against every body, but 
to observe and adopt theirs. And if we can- 
not command one present humour and disposi- 
tion, it is necessary to single out those to con- 
verse with who happen to be in the humour 
the nearest to our own. Peremptoriness and 
decision, especially in young people, is contrary 
to the bienfeances: they should seldom seem 
to dissent, and always use some softening miti- 
gating expression. 

There is a bienfeance also with regard to 
people of the lowest degree ; a gentleman ob- 
serves it with his footman, and even indeed 
with the beggar in the street. He considers 
them as objects of compassion, not of insult; he 
speaks to neither in a harsh tone, but corrects 
the one coolly, and refuses the other with hu- 
manity. 

The following observations perhaps contain 
the sum of the art of pleasing : 

1. A fixed and habitual resolution of endea- 
vouring to please, is a circumstance which will 
seldom fail of effect, and its effect will every 



POLITENESS. 155 

day become more visible as this habit increases 
in strength. 

2. This resolution must be regulated by a 
very considerable degree of good sense. 

3. It is a maxim of almost general applica- 
tion, that what pleases us in another will also 
please others in us. 

4. A constant and habitual attention to the 
different dispositions of mankind, to their ruling 
passions, and to their peculiar or occasional hu- 
mours, is absolutely necessary. 

5. A man who would please, must possess a 
firm, equal, and steady temper. And, 

6. An easy and graceful mariner, as distant 
from bashfulness on the one hand as from im- 
pudence on the other. " He who thinks him- 
self sure of pleasing (says Lord Chesterfield,) 
and he who despairs of it, are equally sure to 
fail." And he is undoubtedly in the rig-hit. 
The one, by his assuming vanity, is inatten- 
tive to the means of pleasing ; and the other, 
from fear, is rendered incapable of employing 
them. 

A variety of excellent rules for acquiring 
politeness, with strictures on particular kinds 
of impoliteness, may be found in the Spectator, 
Rambler, Idler, Lounger, Mirror, and other 
periodical works of that kind ; and among 
Swift's Works ; Chesterfield's Art of Pleasing, 
and his Letters are, also, worthy of perusal, 
provided the reader be on his guard against 
the insincerity and other vices which those 
books are calculated to infuse, and provided he 



156 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

always bears in mind what we have endea- 
voured to show in this article, that true polite- 
ness does not consist in specious manners and 
a dissimulating address, but that it must al- 
ways be founded on real worth and intrinsic 
virtue. 



NECESSITY OF CULTIVATING POLITENESS. 

Politeness is one of those advantages which 
we never estimate rightly but by the inconve- 
nience of its loss. Its influence upon the man- 
ners is constant and uniform, so that, like an 
equal motion, it escapes perception. The cir- 
cumstances of every action are so adjusted to 
each other, that we do not see where any error 
could have been committed, and rather acqui- 
esce in its propriety than admire its exactness. 

But as sickness shows us the value of ease, a 
little familiarity with those who were never 
taught to endeavour the gratification of others, 
but regulate their behaviour merely by their 
own will, will soon evince the necessity of es- 
tablished modes and formalities to the happi- 
ness and quiet of common life. 

Wisdom and virtue are by no means suffi- 
cient, without the supplemental laws of good- 
breeding, to secure freedom from degenerating 
to rudeness, or self-esteem from swelling into 
insolence; a thousand incivilities may be com- 
mitted, and a thousand offices neglected, with- 
out any remorse of conscience, or reproach from 
reason. 



POLITENESS. 157 

The true effect of genuine politeness seems 
to be rather ease than pleasure. The power of 
delighting must be conferred by nature, and can- 
not be delivered by precept, or obtained by imi- 
tation ; but though it be the privilege of a very 
small number to ravish and to charm, every 
man may hope by rules and caution not to give 
pain, and may, therefore, by the help of good- 
breeding, enjoy the kindness of mankind, though 
he should have no claim to higher distinction. 

The universal axiom in which all complai- 
sance is included, and from which flow all the 
formalities which custom has established in ci- 
vilized nations is, That no man shall give any 
preference to himself. A rule so comprehensive 
and certain, that, perhaps, it is not easy for the 
mind to imagine an incivility, without suppos- 
ing it to be broken. 

There are, indeed, in every place, some parti- 
cular modes of the ceremonial part of good- 
breeding, which being arbitrary and accidental, 
can be learned only by habitude and conversa- 
tion ; such are the forms of salutation, the dif- 
ferent gradations of reverence, and all the adjust- 
ments of place and precedence. These, however, 
may be often violated without offence, if it be 
sufficiently evident, that neither malice nor 
pride contributed to the failure ; but will not 
atone, however rigidly observed, for the tumour 
of insolence, or petulance of contempt. 

I have, indeed, not found among any part of 
mankind, less real and rational complaisance, 
than among those who have passed their time 



158 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

in paying and receiving visits, in frequenting 
public entertainments, in studying the exact 
measures of ceremony, and in watching all the 
variations of fashionable courtesy. 

They know, indeed, at what hour they may 
beat the door of an acquaintance, how many 
steps they must attend him towards the gate, 
and what interval should pass before his visit is 
returned ; but seldom extend their care be- 
yond the exterior and unessential parts of civil- 
ity, nor refuse their own vanity any gratifica- 
tion, however expensive to the quiet of an- 
other. 

To love all men is our duty, so far as it in- 
cludes a general habit of benevolence, and 
readiness of occasional kindness ; but to love all 
equally is impossible ; at least impossible with- 
out the extinction of those passions which now 
produce all our pains and all our pleasures; 
without the disuse, if not the abolition, of some 
of our faculties, and the suppression of all our 
hopes and fears in apathy and indifference. 

The necessities of our condition require a 
thousand offices of tenderness, which mere re- 
gard for the species will never dictate. Every 
man has frequent grievances which only the 
solicitude of friendship will discover and reme- 
dy, and which would remain for ever unheed- 
ed in the mighty heap of human calamity, were 
it only surveyed by the eye of general benevo- 
lence, equally attentive to every misery. 



<jood-humour. 159 

GOOD-HUMOUR. 

Good-humour may be defined a habit of be- 
ing pleased ; a constant and perennial softness 
of manner, easiness of approach, and suavity of 
disposition ; like that which every man per- 
ceives in himself, when the first transports of 
new felicity have subsided, and his thoughts are 
only kept in motion by a slow succession of soft 
impulses. Good-humour is a state between gai- 
ety and unconcern, the act or emanation of a 
mind at leisure to regard the gratification of 
another. 

It is imagined by many, that whenever they 
aspire to please, they are required to be merry, 
and to show the gladness of their souls by 
flights of pleasantry, and bursts of laughter. 
But though these men may be for a time heard 
with applause and admiration, they seldom de- 
light us long. We enjoy them a little, and 
then retire to easiness and good-humour, as the 
eye gazes awhile on eminence glittering with 
the sun, but soon turns aching away to verdure 
and to flowers. 

Gaiety is to good-humour as animal perfumes 
to vegetable fragrance; the one overpowers 
weak spirits, and the other recreates and re- 
vives them. Gaiety seldom fails to give some 
pain ; the hearers either strain their faculties to 
accompany its towerings, or are left behind in 
envy and despair. Good-humour boasts no fac- 
ulties which every one does not believe in his 



160 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

own power, and pleases principally by not of- 
fending-. 

It is well known that the most certain way to 
give any man pleasure, is to persuade him that 
you receive pleasure from him, to encourage 
him to freedom and confidence, and to avoid any 
such appearance of superiority as may overbear 
and depress him. We see many that by this 
art only, spend their days in the midst of ca- 
resses, invitations, and civilities ; and without 
any extraordinary qualities or attainments, are 
the universal favourites of both sexes, and cer- 
tainly find a friend in every place. The dar- 
lings of the world will, indeed, be generally 
found such as excite neither jealousy nor fear, 
and are not considered as candidates for any 
eminent degree of reputation, but content them- 
selves with common accomplishments, and en- 
deavour rather to solicit kindness than to raise 
esteem ; therefore, in assemblies and places of 
resort, it seldom fails to happen, that though at 
the entrance of some particular person, every 
face brightens with gladness, and every hand is 
extended in salutation, yet if you pursue him 
beyond the first exchange of civilities, you will 
find him of very small importance, and only 
welcome to the company, as one by whom all 
conceive themselves admired, and with whom 
any one is at liberty to amuse himself when he 
can find no other auditor or companion ; as one 
with whom all are at ease, who will hear a jest 
without criticism, and a narrative without con- 



GOOD-HUMOUR. 161 

tradiction, who laughs at every wit, and yields 
to every disputer. 

There are many whose vanity always in- 
clines them to associate with those from whom 
they have no reason to fear mortification ; and 
there are times in which the wise and the 
knowing are willing to receive praise without 
the labour of deserving it, in which the most 
elevated mind is willing to descend, and the 
most active to be at rest. All therefore are at 
some hour or another fond of companions whom 
they can entertain upon easy terms, and who 
will relieve them from solitude, without con- 
demning them to vigilance and caution. We 
are most inclined to love w 7 hen we have no- 
thing to fear, and he that encourages us to 
please ourselves, will not be long without pre- 
ference in our affection to those whose learning 
holds us at the distance of pupils, or whose wit 
calls all attention from us, and leaves us with- 
out importance and without regard. 

It is remarked by Prince Henry, when he 
sees Falstaff lying on the ground, that he 
could have better spared a better man. He was 
well acquainted with the vices and follies of 
him whom he lamented; but while his convic- 
tion compelled him to do justice to superior 
qualities, his tenderness still broke out at the re- 
membrance of Falstaff, of the cheerful compan- 
ion, the loud buffoon, with whom he had passed 
his time in all the luxury of idleness, who had 
gladded him with unenvied merriment, and 
whom he could at once enjoy or despise. 
11 



162 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

You may perhaps think this account of those 
who are distinguished for their good-humour, 
not very consistent with the praises which 1 
have bestowed upon it. But surely nothing 
can more evidently show the value of this qual- 
ity, than that it recommends those who are des- 
titute of all other excellences, and procures re- 
gard to the trifling, friendship to the worthless, 
and affection to the dull. 



THE EFFECT OF MODERN RICHES UPON THE 
MANNERS. 

Nothing has been longer observed, than that 
a change of fortune causes a change of man- 
ners ; and that it is difficult to conjecture from 
the conduct of him whom we see in a low con- 
dition, how he would act, if wealth and power 
were put into his hands. But it is generally 
agreed, that few men are made better by afflu- 
ence or exaltation ; and that the powers of the 
mind, when they are unbound and expand- 
ed by the sunshine of felicity, more frequently 
luxuriate into follies than blossom into good- 
ness. 

Many observations have concurred to estab- 
lish this opinion, and it is not likely soon to be- 
come absolete, for want of new occasions to re- 
vive it. The greater part of mankind are 
corrupt in every condition, and differ in high 
and low stations, only as they have more or 
fewer opportunities of gratifying their desires 



MODERN RICHES. 163 

or as they are more or less restrained by human 
censures. Many vitiate their principles into 
the acquisition of riches ; and who can wonder 
that what is gained by fraud and extortion is 
enjoyed with tyranny and excess] 

Yet I am willing to believe that the deprava- 
tion of the mind by external advantages, though 
certainly not uncommon, yet approaches not so 
nearly to universality, as some have asserted in 
the bitterness of resentment, or heat of decla- 
mation. 

Whoever rises above those who once pleas- 
ed themselves with equality, will have many 
malevolent gazers at his eminence. To gain 
sooner than others that which all pursue with 
the same ardour, and to which all imagine 
themselves entitled, will for ever be a crime. 
When those who started with us in the race of 
life, leave us so far behind that we have little 
hope to overtake them, we revenge our disap- 
pointment by remarks on the arts of supplanta- 
tion by which they gained the advantage, or 
on the folly and arrogance with which they 
possess it. Of them whose rise we could not 
hinder, we solace ourselves by prognosticating 
the fall. 

It is impossible for human purity not to be- 
tray to an eye, thus sharpened by malignity, 
some stains which lay concealed and unre- 
garded, while none thought it their interest to 
discover them ; nor can the most circumspect 
attention, or steady rectitude, escape blame 
from censors who have no inclination to ap- 



164 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

prove. Riches therefore, perhaps, do not so 
often produce crimes as incite accusers. 

The common charge against those who rise 
above their original condition, is that of pride. 
It is certain that success naturally confirms us 
in a favourable opinion of our own abilities. 
Scarce any man is willing to allot to accident, 
friendship, and a thousand causes, which concur 
in every event without human contrivance or 
interposition, the part which they may justly 
claim in his advancement. We rate ourselves 
by our fortune rather than our virtues, and ex- 
orbitant claims are quickly produced by imagin- 
ary merit. But captiousness and jealousy are 
likewise easily offended, and to him who stu- 
diously looks for an affront, every mode of be- 
haviour will supply it; freedom will be rude- 
ness, and reserve sullenness; mirth will be 
negligence, and seriousness formality ; when 
he is received with ceremony, distance and re- 
spect are inculcated ; if he is treated with fa- 
miliarity, he concludes himself insulted by con- 
descensions. 

It must however be confessed, that as all sudden 
changes are dangerous, a quick transition from 
poverty to abundance can seldom be made with 
safety. He that has long lived within sight of 
pleasures which he could not reach, will need 
more than common moderation, not to lose his 
reason in unbounded riot, when they are first 
put into his power. 

Every possession is endeared by novelty; 
every gratification is exaggerated by desire. It 



MODERN RICHES. 165 

is difficult not to estimate what is lately gained 
above its real value; it is impossible not to an- 
nex greater happiness to that condition from 
which we are unwillingly excluded, than na- 
ture has qualified us to obtain. For this reason, 
the remote inheritor of an unexpected fortune 
may be generally distinguished from those who 
are enriched in the common course of lineal de- 
scent, by his greater haste to enjoy his wealth, 
by the finery of his dress, the pomp of his 
equipage, the splendour of his furniture, and the 
luxury of his table. 

A thousand things which familiarity discov- 
ers to be of little value, have power for a time 
to seize the imagination. An Indian king, 
when the Europeans had fixed a lock on his 
door, was so delighted to find his subjects ad- 
mitted or excluded with such facility, that it 
was from morning to evening his whole em- 
ployment to turn the key. We, among whom 
locks and keys have been longer in use, are in- 
clined to laugh at this amusement; yet I doubt 
whether this essay will have a single reader 
that may not apply the story to himself, and re- 
collect some hours of his life in which he has 
been equally overpowered by the transitory 
charms of trifling novelty. 

Some indulgence is due to him whom a 
happy gale of fortune has suddenly transported 
into new regions, where unaccustomed lustre 
dazzles his eyes, and untasted delicacies solicit 
his appetite. Let him not be considered as lost 
in hopeless degeneracy, though he for a while 



166 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

forgets the regard due to others, to indulge the 
contemplation of himself, and in the extrava- 
gance of his first raptures expects that his eye 
should regulate the motions of all that approach 
him, and his opinion be received as decisive and 
oraculous. His intoxication will give way to 
time; the madness of joy will fume impercept- 
ibly away ; the sense of his insufficiency will 
soon return ; he will remember that the co-op- 
eration of others is necessary to his happiness, 
and learn to conciliate their regard by recipro- 
cal beneficence. 

There is, at least, one consideration which 
ought to alleviate our censures of the powerful 
and rich. To imagine them chargeable with 
all the guilt and folly of their own actions, is to 
be very little acquainted with the world. 

De Vabsolu pouvoir vous ignorez Vyvresse, 
Et du lache fiateur la voix enchantcresse. 

Thou hast not known the giddy whirls of fate, 
Nor servile flatteries which enchant the great. 

MISS A. W. 

He that can do much good or harm will not 
find many whom ambition or cowardice will 
suffer to be sincere. While we live upon the 
level with the rest of mankind, we are remind- 
ed of our duty by the admonitions of friends and 
reproaches of enemies; but men who stand in 
the highest ranks of society, seldom hear of 
their faults ; if by any accident an approbrious 
clamour reaches their ears, flattery is always 



IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY, 167 

at hand to pour in her opiates, to quiet convic- 
tion, and obtund remorse. 

Favour is seldom gained but by conformity 
in vice. Virtue can stand without assistance, 
and considers herself as very little obliged by 
countenance and approbation ; but vice, spirit- 
less and timorous, seeks the shelter of crowds, 
and support of confederacy. The sychophant, 
therefore, neglects the good qualities of his 
patron, and employs all his art on his weakness 
and follies, regales his reigning vanity, or stim- 
ulates his prevalent desires. 

Virtue is sufficiently difficult with any cir- 
cumstances, but the difficulty is increased when 
reproof and advice are frighted away. In com- 
mon life, reason and conscience have only the 
appetites and passions to encounter; but in 
higher stations they must oppose artifice and 
adulation. He, therefore, that yields to such 
temptations, cannot give those who look upon 
his miscarriage much reason for exultation, 
since few can justly presume that from the 
same snare they should have been able to es- 
cape. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. 

Boyle has observed, that the excellency of 
manufactures and the facility of labour would 
be much promoted, if the various expedients 
and contrivances which lie concealed in private 
hands, were by reciprocal communications made 
generally known ; for there are few operations 



163 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

that are not performed by one or other with 
some peculiar advantages, which, though sing- 
ly of little importance, would, by conjunction 
and concurrence, open new inlets to knowledge, 
and give new powers to diligence. 

There are, in like manner, several moral ex- 
cellences distributed among the different class- 
es of a community. It was said by Cujacius, 
that he never read more than one book by which 
he was not instructed ; and he that shall inquire 
after virtue with ardour and attention will sel- 
dom find a man by whose example or senti- 
ments he may not be improved. 

Every profession has some essential and ap- 
propriate virtue, without which there can be no 
hope of honour or success, and which as it is 
more or less cultivated, confers within its 
sphere of activity different degrees of merit and 
reputation. As the astrologers range the sub- 
divisions of mankind under the planets which 
they suppose to influence their lives, the mor- 
alist may distribute them according to the vir- 
tues which they necessarily practise, and con- 
sider them as distinguished by prudence or for- 
titude, diligence or patience. 

So much are the modes of excellence settled 
by time and place, that men may be heard 
boasting in one street of that which they would 
anxiously conceal in another. The grounds of 
scorn and esteem, the topics of praise and satire 
are varied according to the several virtues or 
vices which the course of life has disposed men 
to admire or abhor ; but he who is solicitous for 



IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. 169 

his own improvement must not be limited by 
local reputation, but select from every tribe of 
mortals their characteristical virtues, and con- 
stellate in himself the scattered graces which 
shine singly in other men. 

The chief praise to which a trader aspires is 
that of punctuality, or an exact and rigorous 
observance of commercial engagements ; nor 
is there any vice of which he so much dreads 
the imputation, as of negligence and instabili- 
ty. 



HOW POLITENESS IS MANIFESTED. 

To correct such gross vices as lead us to 
commit a real injury to others, is the part of 
morals, and the object of the most ordinary 
education. Where that is not attended to, in 
some degree, no human society can subsist. 
But in order to render conversation and the in- 
tercourse of minds more easy and agreeable, 
good-manners have been invented, and have 
carried the matter somewhat farther. Wherever 
nature has given the mind a propensity to 
any vice, or to any passion disagreeable to 
others, refined breeding has taught men to 
throw the bias on the opposite side, and to 
preserve, in all their behaviour, the appearance 
of sentiments contrary to those which they na- 
turally incline to. Thus, as we are naturally 



170 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

proud and selfish, and apt to assume the prefer- 
ence above others, a polite man is taught to be- 
have with deference towards those with whom 
he converses, and to yield up the superiority to 
them in all the common incidents of society. 
In like manner, wherever a person's situation 
may naturally beget any disagreeable suspicion 
in him, 't is the part of good-manners to pre- 
vent it, by a studied display of sentiments di- 
rectly contrary to those of which he is apt to 
be jealous. Thus old men know their infirm- 
ities, and naturally dread contempt from youth ; 
hence, well-educated youth redouble their in- 
stances of respect and deference to their elders. 
Strangers and foreigners are without protection ; 
hence, in all polite countries, they receive the 
highest civilities, and are entitled to the first 
place in every company. A man is lord in his 
own family, and his guests are, in a manner, 
subject to his authority ; hence, he is always 
the lowest person in the company : attentive to 
the w T ants of every one ; and giving himself 
all the trouble in order to please, which may 
not betray too visible an affectation, or impose 
too much constraint on his guests. Gallantry 
is nothing but an instance of the same generous 
and refined attention. As nature has given 
man the superiority above women, by endowing 
him with greater strength both of mind and 
body, 'tis his part to alleviate that superiority, 
as much as possible, by the generosity of his 
behaviour, and by a studied deference and com- 
plaisance for all her inclinations and opinions. 



ENDEAVOUR TO PLEASE. 171 

Barbarous nations display this superiority, by 
reducing their females to the most abject slave- 
ry; by confining them, by beating them, by 
selling them, by killing them. But the male 
sex among a polite people discover their author- 
ity in a more generous, though not a less evi- 
dent, manner ; by civility, by respect, by com- 
plaisance, and, in a word, by gallantry. In 
good company you need not ask, Who is mas- 
ter of the feast] The man who sits in the 
lowest place, and who is always industrious in 
helping every one, is most certainly the person. 
We must either condemn all such instances of 
generosity, as foppish and affected, or admit of 
gallantly among the rest. The ancient Mus- 
covites wedded their wives with a whip instead 
of a wedding ring. The same people, in their 
own houses, took always the precedency above 
foreigners, even foreign ambassadors. These 
two instances of their generosity and politeness 
are much of a piece. 



ENDEAVOUR TO PLEASE AND YOU CAN 
SCARCELY FAIL TO PLEASE. 

The means of pleasing vary according to 
time, place, and person ; but the general rule 
is the trite one. Endeavour to please, and you 
will infallibly please to a certain degree ; con- 
stantly show a desire to please, and you will 
. engage people's self-love in your interest ; a 



172 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

most powerful advocate. This, as indeed almost 
every thing else, depends on attention. 

Be therefore attentive to the most trifling 
thing that passes where you are ; have, as the 
vulgar phrase is, your eyes and your ears al- 
ways about you. It is a very foolish, though a 
very common saying, " I really did not mind 
it," or, " I was thinking of quite another thing 
at that time." The proper answer to such in- 
genious excuses, and which admits of no reply, 
is, Why did you not mind it! you were pre- 
sent when it was said or done. Oh ! but you 
may say, you were thinking of quite another 
thing; if so, why were you not in quite another 
place proper for that important other thing, 
which you say you were thinking of 1 But you 
will say, perhaps, that the company was so silly 
that it did not deserve your attention: that, I 
am sure, is the saying of a silly man ; for a 
man of sense knows that there is no company 
so silly, that some use may not be made of it by 
attention. 

Let your address, when you first come into 
company, be modest, but without the least 
bashfulness or sheepishness ; steady, without 
impudence; and unembarrassed, as if you were 
in your own room. This is a difficult point to 
hit, and therefore deserves great attention ; no- 
thing but a long usage in the world, and in the 
best company, can possibly give it. 

A young man, without knowledge of the 
world, when he first goes into a fashionable 
company, where most are his superiors, is com- 



ENDEAVOUR TO PLEASE. 173 

monly either annihilated by bashfulness, or, if 
he rouses and lashes himself up to what he 
only thinks a modest assurance, he runs into 
impudence and absurdity, and consequently of- 
fends instead of pleasing. Have always as 
much as you can, that gentleness of manners, 
which never fails to make favourable impres- 
sions, provided it be equally free from an insi- 
pid smile, or a pert smirk. 

Carefully avoid an argumentative and dispu- 
tative turn, which too many people have, and 
some even value themselves upon in company ; 
and, when your opinion differs from others, 
maintain it only with modesty, calmness, and 
gentleness ; but never be eager, loud, or cla- 
morous; and, when you rind your antagonist 
beginning to grow warm, put an end to the dis- 
pute by some genteel stroke of humour. For 
take it for granted, if the two best friends in 
the world dispute with eagerness upon the 
most trifling subject imaginable, they will, for 
the time, find a momentary alienation from 
each other. Disputes upon any subject are a 
sort of trial of the understanding, and must 
end in the mortification of one or other of the 
disputants. On the other hand, I am far from 
meaning that you should give an universal as- 
sent to all that you hear said in company ; such 
an assent would be mean, and in some cases 
criminal ; but blame with indulgence, and cor- 
rect with gentleness. 

Always look people in the face when you 
speak to them ; the not doing it is thought to 



174 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

imply conscious guilt ; besides that, you lose 
the advantage of observing by their counte- 
nances, what impression your discourse makes 
upon them. In order to know people's real 
sentiments, I trust much more to my eyes than 
to my ears ; for they can say whatever they have 
a mind I should hear; but they can seldom 
help looking what they have no intention that 
I should know. 

If you have not command enough over your- 
self to conquer your humours, as I am sure 
every rational creature may have, never go into 
company while the fit of ill-humour is upon 
you. Instead of company's diverting you in 
those moments, you will displease, and probably 
shock them ; and you will part worse friends 
than you met; but whenever you find in your- 
self a disposition to sullenness, contradiction, 
or testiness, it will be in vain to seek for a cure 
abroad. Stay at home; let your humour fer- 
ment and work itself off. Cheerfulness and 
good humour are of all qualifications the most 
amiable in company ; for, though they do not 
necessarily imply good nature and good breed- 
ing, they represent them, at least, very well, 
and that is all that is required in mixed com- 
pany. 

I have, indeed, known some very ill-natured 
people, who were very good-humoured in com- 
pany ; but I never knew any one generally ill- 
humoured in company, who w T as not essentially 
ill-natured. When there is no malevolence in 
the heart, there is always a cheerfulness and 



ENDEAVOUR TO PLEASE. 175 

ease in the countenance and manners. By 
good humour and cheerfulness, I am far from 
meaning- noisy mirth and loud peals of laugh- 
ter, which are the distinguishing character- 
istics of the vulgar, and of the ill-bred, whose 
mirth is a kind of storm. Observe it, the vul- 
gar often laugh, but never smile ; whereas 
well-bred people often smile, but seldom laugh* 
A witty thing never excited laughter; it pleases 
only the mind, and never distorts the counte- 
nance ; a glaring absurdity, a blunder, a silly 
accident, and those things that are generally 
called comical, may excite a laugh, though 
never a loud nor a long one, among well-bred 
people. 

Sudden passion is called short-lived madness; 
it is a madness indeed, but the fits of it return 
so often in choleric people, that it may well be 
called a continual madness. Should you hap- 
pen to be of this unfortunate disposition, make 
it your constant study to subdue, or, at least, to 
check it; when you find your choler rising, 
resolve neither to speak to, nor answer the per- 
son who excites it; but stay till you find it 
subsiding, and then speak deliberately. En- 
deavour to be cool and steady upon all occa- 
sions ; the advantages of such a steady calm- 
ness are innumerable, and would be tedious to 
relate. It may be acquired by care and re- 
flection ; if it could not, that reason which dis- 
tinguishes men from brutes would be given us 
to very little purpose; as a proof of this, I 



176 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

never saw, and scarcely ever heard of a Quakei 
in a passion. In truth, there is in that sect a 
decorum and decency, and an amiable simpli- 
city, that I know in no other. 



DIRECTIONS FOR THE MANAGEMENT OF WIT. 

If you have wit, (which I am not sure that 
I wish you, unless you have at the same 
time at least an equal portion of judgment to 
keep it in good order) wear it like your sword 
in the scabbard, and do not brandish it to the 
terror of the whole company. Wit is a shining 
quality, that every body admires ; most people 
aim at it, all people fear it, and few love it, un- 
less in themselves : — a man must have a good 
share of wit himself, to endure a great share 
in another. When wit exerts itself in satire, 
it is a most malignant distemper; wit, it is 
true, may be shown in satire, but satire does 
not constitute wit, as many imagine. A man 
of wit ought to find a thousand better occasions 
of showing it. 

Abstain, therefore, most carefully from satire ; 
which, though it fall on no particular person in 
company, and momentarily, from the malignan- 
cy of the human heart, pleases all ; yet, upon 
reflection, it frightens all too. Every one thinks 
it may be his turn next ; and will hate you for 
what he finds you could say of him, more than 
be obliged to you for what you do not say. Fear 
and hatred are next-door neighbours ; the more 



MANAGEMENT OF WIT. 177 

wit you have, the more good-nature and polite- 
ness you must show, to induce people to pardon 
your superiority ; for that is no easy matter. 

Appear to have rather less than more wit 
than you really have. A wise man will live at 
least as much within his wit as his income. 
Content yourself with good sense and reason, 
which at the long run are ever sure to please 
every body who has either; if wit comes into 
the bargain, welcome it, but never invite it. 
Bear this truth always in your mind, that you 
may be admired for your wit, if you have any ; 
but that nothing but good sense and good quali- 
ties can make you be beloved. These are sub- 
stantial every day's wear ; whereas, wit is a 
holiday suit, which people put on chiefly to be 
stared at. 

There is a species of minor wit, which is 
much used, and much more abused; I mean 
raillery. It is a most mischievous and danger- 
ous weapon, when in unskilful and clumsy 
hands ; and it is much safer to let it quite alone 
than to play with it ; and yet almost every body 
plays with it, though they see daily the quarrels 
and heart-burnings that it occasions. 

The injustice of a bad man is sooner forgiven 
than the insults of a witty one; the former 
only hurts one's liberty and property ; but the 
latter hurts and mortifies that secret pride 
which no human breast is free from. I will 
allow, that there is a sort of raillery which 
may not only be inoffensive, but even flattering ; 
as when, by a genteel irony, you accuse people 
12 



178 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of those imperfections which they are most no- 
toriously free from, and consequently insinuate 
that they possess the contrary virtues. You 
may safely call Aristides a knave, or a very 
handsome woman an ugly one. Take care, 
however, that neither the man's character, nor 
the lady's beauty, be in the least doubtful. But 
this sort of raillery requires a very light and 
steady hand to administer it. A little too strong, 
it may be mistaken into an offence ; and a little 
too smooth, it may be thought a sneer, which is 
a most odious thing. 

There is another sort, I will not call it wit, 
but merriment and buffoonery, which is mimic- 
ry. The most successful mimic in the world 
is always the most absurd fellow, and an ape is 
infinitely his superior. His profession is to imi- 
tate and ridicule those natural defects and de- 
formities for which no man is in the least ac- 
countable, and in the imitation of which he 
makes himself, for the time, as disagreeable 
and shocking as those he mimics. But I will 
say no more of these creatures, who only amuse 
the lowest rabble of mankind. 

There is another sort of human animals, 
called wags, whose profession is to make the 
company laugh immoderately ; and who always 
succeed, provided the company consist of fools ; 
but who are equally disappointed in finding 
that they never can alter a muscle in the face 
of a man of sense. This is a most contemptible 
character, and never esteemed, even by those 
$vho a re silly enough to be diverted hy them. 



EGOTISM. 179 

Be content for yourself with sound good 
sense and good manners, and let wit be thrown 
into the bargain, where it is proper and inof- 
fensive. Good sense will make you esteemed ; 
good manners will make you beloved ; and wit 
will give a lustre to both. 



EGOTISM TO BE AVOIDED. 

The egotism is the most usual and favourite 
figure of most poeple's rhetoric, and which I 
hope you will never adopt, but, on the contrary, 
most scrupulously avoid. Nothing is more dis- 
agreeable or irksome to the company, than to 
hear a man either praising or condemning him- 
self; for both proceed from the same motive, 
vanity. I would allow no man to speak of him- 
self unless in a court of justice, in his own de- 
fence, or as a witness. Shall a man speak in 
his own praise ? No : the hero of his own little 
tale always puzzles and disgusts the company ; 
who do not know what to say, or how to look. 
Shall he blame himself 1 No : vanity is as 
much the motive of his condemnation as of his 
panegyric. 

I have known many people take shame to 
themselves, and, with a modest contrition, con- 
fess themselves guilty of most of the cardinal 
virtues. They have such a weakness in their 
nature, that they cannot help being too much 
moved with the misfortunes and miseries of 
their fellow-creatures ; which they feel perhaps 



180 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

more, but at least as much as they do their 
own. Their generosity, they are sensible, is 
imprudence; for they apt to carry it too far, 
from the weak, the irresistible beneficence of 
their nature. They are possibly too jealous of 
their honour, too irascible when they think it is 
touched ; and this proceeds from their unhappy 
warm constitution, which makes them too sen- 
sible upon that point ; and so possibly with re- 
spect to all the virtues. A poor trick, and a 
wretched instance of human vanity, and what 
defeats its own purpose. Do you be sure never 
to speak of yourself, for yourself, nor against 
yourself; but let your character speak for you : 
whatever that says will be believed ; but what- 
ever you say of it will not be believed, and only 
make you odious and ridiculous. 

I know that you are generous and benevolent 
in your nature ; but that, though the principal 
point, is not quite enough ; you must seem so 
too. I do not mean ostentatiously ; but do not 
be ashamed, as many young fellows are, of 
owning the laudable sentiments of good-nature 
and humanity, which you really feel. I have 
known many young men, who desired to be 
reckoned men of spirit, affect a hardness and 
unfeelingness which in reality they never had ; 
their conversation is in the decisive and me- 
nacing tone, mixed with horrid and silly oaths; 
and all this to be thought men of spirit. As- 
tonishing error this ! which naturally reduces 
them to this dilemma : If they really mean 
what they say, they are brutes ; and if they do 



EGOTISM. 181 

not, they are fools for saying it. This, how- 
ever, is a common character among young men ; 
carefully avoid this contagion, and content your- 
self with being calmly and mildly resolute and 
steady, when you are thoroughly convinced you 
are in the right ; for this is true spirit. 

Observe the a-propos in every thing you say 
or do. In conversing with those who are much 
your superiors, however easy and familiar you 
may and ought to be with them, preserve the 
respect that is due to them. Converse with 
your equals with an easy familiarity, and, at 
the same time, great civility and decency ; but 
too much familiarity, according to the old say- 
ing, often breeds contempt, and sometimes 
quarrels. I know nothing more difficult in com- 
mon behaviour, than to fix due bounds to fami- 
liarity : too little implies an unsocial formality ; 
too much destroys social and friendly inter- 
course. The best rule I can give you to man- 
age familiarity is, never to be more familiar 
with any body than you would be willing, and 
even wish, that he should be with you. On the 
other hand, avoid that uncomfortable reserve 
and coldness which is generally the shield of 
cunning or the protection of dullness. To your 
inferiors you should use a hearty benevolence 
in your words and actions, instead of a refined 
politeness, which would be apt to make them 
suspect that you rather laughed at them. 

Carefully avoid all affectation either of body 
or of mind. It is a very true and a very trite 
observation, That no man is ridiculous for being 



182 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

what he really is, but for affecting to be what 
he is not. No man is awkward by nature, but 
by affecting to be genteel. I have known many 
a man of common sense pass generally for a 
fool, because he affected a degree of wit that 
nature had denied him. A ploughman is by 
no means awkward in the exercise of his trade, 
but would be exceedingly ridiculous, if he at- 
tempted the air and graces of a man of fashion. 
You learned to dance ; but it was not for the 
sake of dancing ; it was to bring your air and 
motions back to what they would naturally 
have been, if they had had fair play, and had 
not been warped in youth by bad examples, and 
awkward imitations of other boys. 

Nature may be cultivated and improved both 
as to the body and the mind ; but it is not to 
be extinguished by art; and all endeavours of 
that kind are absurd, and an inexpressible fund 
for ridicule. Your body and mind must be at 
ease to be agreeable ; but affectation is a par- 
ticular restraint, under which no man can be 
genteel in his carriage or pleasing in his con- 
versation. Do you think your motions would 
be easy or graceful, if you wore the clothes of 
another man much slenderer or taller than 
yourself] Certainly not; it is the same thing 
with the mind, if you affect a character that 
does not fit you, and that nature never intended 
for you. 

In fine, it may be laid down as a general 
rule, that a man who despairs of pleasing will 



ENVY. 183 

never please : a man that is sure that he shall 
always please wherever he goes, is a coxcomb ; 
but the man who hopes and endeavours to 
please will most infallibly please^ 



ENVY. 

Envy is almost the only vice which is prac- 
ticable at all times, and in every place; the 
only passion which can never lie quiet for want 
of irritation ; its effects, therefore, are every- 
where discoverable, and its attempts always to 
be dreaded. 

It is impossible to mention a name, which 
any advantageous distinction has made eminent, 
but some latent animosity will burst out. The 
wealthy trader, however he may abstract him- 
self from public affairs, will never want those 
who hint with Shylock, that ships are but 
boards, and that no man can properly be termed 
rich whose fortune is at the mercy of the 
winds. The beauty adorned only with the un- 
ambitious graces of innocence and modesty, 
provokes, whenever she appears, a thousand 
murmurs of detraction, and whispers of suspi- 
cion. The genius, even when he endeavours 
only to entertain with pleasing images of na- 
ture, or instruct by uncontested principles of 
science, yet suffers persecution from innumer- 
able critics, whose acrimony is excited merely 
by the pain of seeing others pleased, of hearing 
applauses which another enjoys. 



184 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

The frequency of envy makes it so familiar 
that it escapes our notice ; nor do we often re- 
flect upon its turpitude or malignity, till we 
happen to feel its influence. When he that 
has given no provocation to malice, but by at- 
tempting to excel in some useful art, rinds him- 
self pursued by multitudes whom he never 
saw with implacability of personal resentment; 
when he perceives clamour and malice let loose 
upon him as a public enemy, and incited by 
every stratagem of defamation ; when he hears 
the misfortunes of his family, or the follies of 
his youth, exposed to the world ; and every 
failure of conduct, or defect of nature, aggra- 
vated and ridiculed ; he then learns to abhor 
those artifices at which he only laughed before, 
and discovers how much the happiness of life 
would be advanced by the eradication of eiivy 
from the human heart. 

Envy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the 
mind, and seldom yields to the culture of phi- 
losophy. There are, however, considerations, 
which, if carefully implanted, and diligently 
propagated, might in time overpower and re- 
press it, since no one can nurse it for the sake 
of pleasure, as its effects are only shame, 
anguish, and perturbation. 

It is, above all other vices, inconsistent with 
the character of a social being, because it sac- 
rifices truth and kindness to very weak tempta- 
tions. He that plunders a w ? ealthy neigh- 
bour, gains as much as he takes away, and im- 
proves his own condition, in the same propor- 



ENVY. 185 

tion as he impairs another's ; but he that blasts 
a flourishing reputation, must be content with 
a small dividend of additional fame, so small as 
can afford very little consolation to balance the 
guilt by which it is obtained. 

I have hitherto avoided mentioning that 
dangerous and empirical morality, which cures 
one vice by means of another. But envy is so 
base and detestable, so vile in its original, and 
so pernicious in its effects, that the predomi- 
nance of almost any other quality is to be de- 
sired. It is one of those lawless enemies of 
society, against which the poisoned arrows may 
honestly be used. Let it therefore be constant- 
ly remembered, that whoever envies another, 
confesses his superiority, and let those be re- 
formed by their pride, who have lost their vir- 
tue. 

It is no slight aggravation of the injuries 
which envy excites, that they are committed 
against those who have given no intentional 
provocation ; and that the sufferer is marked 
out for ruin, not because he has failed in any 
duty, but because he has dared to do more than 
was required. 

Almost every other crime is practised by the 
help of some quality which might have pro- 
duced esteem or love, if it had been well em- 
ployed ; but envy is a more unmixed and genu- 
ine evil ; it pursues a hateful end by despica- 
ble means, and desires not so much its own 
happiness as another's misery. To avoid de- 
pravity like this, it is not necessary that any 



186 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

one should aspire to heroism or sanctity ; but 
only, that he should resolve not to quit the rank 
which nature assigns, and wish to maintain the 
dignity of a human being. 



EXAMPLE, ITS PREVALENCE. 

Is it not Pliny, my lord, who says, that the 
gentlest, he should have added the most effec- 
tual, way of commanding, is by example 1 The 
harshest orders are softened by example, and 
tyranny itself becomes persuasive. What pity 
it is that so few princes have learned this way 
of commanding ! But again: the force of ex- 
ample is not confined to those alone that pass 
immediately under our sight: the examples 
that memory suggests have the same effect in 
their degree, and an habit of recalling them 
will soon produce the habit of imitating them. 
In the same epistle from whence I cited a pas- 
sage just now, Seneca says, that Cleanthes 
had never become so perfect a copy of Zeno, 
if he had not passed his life with him ; that 
Plato, Aristotle, and the other philosophers of 
that school, profited more by the example than 
by the discourses of Socrates. (But here by 
the way Seneca mistook; Socrates died two 
years according to some, and four years accord- 
ing to others, before the birth of Aristotle : and 
his mistake might come from the inaccuracy 
of those who collected for him ; as Erasmus 



EXAMPLE. 187 

observes, after Quintillian, in his judgment on 
Seneca.) But be this, which was scarce worth 
a parenthesis, as it will, he adds, that Metrodo- 
rus, Hermachus, and Polyxenus, men of great 
note, were formed by living under the same 
roof with Epicurus, not by frequenting his 
school. These are instances of the force of 
immediate example. But your lordship knows, 
citizens of Rome placed the images of their 
ancestors in the vestibules of their houses ; so 
that whenever they went in or out, these 
venerable bustoes met their eyes, and recalled 
the glorious actions of the dead, to fire the 
living, to excite them to imitate and even emu- 
late their great forefathers. The success an- 
swered the design. The virtue of one gene- 
ration was transfused, by the magic of example, 
into several ; and a spirit of heroism was main- 
tained through many ages of that common- 
wealth. 



DANGEROUS, WHEN COPIED WITHOUT 
JUDGMENT. 

Peter of Medicis had involved himself in 
great difficulties, when those wars and calami- 
ties began which Lewis Sforza first drew on 
and entailed on Italy, by flattering the ambition 
of Charles the Eighth, in order to gratify his 
own, and calling the French into that country. 
Peter owed his distress to his folly in departing 
from the general tenor of conduct his father 
Laurence had held, and hoped to relieve him- 



188 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

self by imitating his father's example in one 
particular instance. At a time when the wars 
with the Pope and king of Naples had reduced 
Laurence to circumstances of great danger, he 
took the resolution of going to Ferdinand, and 
of treating in person with that prince. The 
resolution appears in history imprudent, and 
almost desperate; were we informed of the secret 
reasons on which this great man acted, it would 
appear very possibly a wise and safe measure. It 
succeeded, and Laurence brought back with him 
public peace and private security. When the 
French troops entered the dominions of Flo- 
rence, Peter was struck with a panic terror, 
went to Charles the Eighth, put the port of 
Leghorn, the fortresses of Pisa, and all the 
keys of the country, into this prince's hands; 
whereby he disarmed the Florentine common- 
wealth, and ruined himself. He was deprived 
of his authority, and driven out of the city, by 
the just indignation of the magistrates and 
people ; and in the treaty which they made af- 
terwards with the king of France, it was stipu- 
lated that he should not remain within a hun- 
dred miles of the state, nor his brothers within 
the same distance of the city of Florence. On 
this occasion Guicciardin observes, how danger- 
ous it is to govern ourselves by particular exam- 
ples ; since to have the same success, we must 
have the same prudence, and the same fortune ; 
and since the example must not only answer 
the case before us in general, but in every mi- 
nute circumstance. 



THE LOVE OF FAME. 189 

THE LOVE OF FAME. 

I can by no means agree with you in think- 
ing that the love of fame is a passion, which 
either reason or religion condemns. I confess, 
indeed, there are some who have represented 
it as inconsistent with both; and I remember, 
in particular, the excellent author of " the Re- 
ligion of Nature delineated" has treated it as 
highly irrational and absurd. As the passage 
falls in so thoroughly with your own turn of 
thought, you will have no objection, I imagine, 
to my quoting; it at large ; and I give it you, 
at the same time, as a very great authority on 
your side. "In reality," says that writer, 
" the man is not known ever the more to pos- 
terity, because his name is transmitted to them : 
he doth not live because his name does. When 
it is said, Julius Caesar subdued Gaul, conquered 
Pompey, &c. it is the same thing as to say, the 
conqueror of Pompey was Julius Csesar, i. e. 
Caesar and the conqueror of Pompeyis the same 
thing ; Caesar is as much known by one desig- 
nation as by the other. The amount then is only 
this : that the conqueror of Pompey conquered 
Pompey ; or rather, since Pompey is as little 
known now as Caesar, somebody conquered some- 
body. Such a poor business is this boasted im- 
mortality ! and such is the thing called glory 
among us ! To discerning men this fame is 
mere air, and what they despise, if not shun." 

But surely " 't were to consider too curious- 
ly," as Horatio says to Hamlet, " to consider 



190 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

thus." For though fame with posterity should 
be, in the strict analysis of it, no other than 
what it is here described, a mere uninteresting 
proposition, amounting to nothing more than 
that somebody acted meritoriously ; yet it would 
not necessarily follow, that true philosophy 
would banish the desire of it from the human 
breast. For this passion may be (as most cer- 
tainly it is) wisely implanted in our species, 
notwithstanding the corresponding object should 
in reality be very different from what it appears 
in imagination. Do not many of our most re- 
fined and even contemplative pleasures owe 
their existence to our mistakes 1 It is but ex- 
tending (I will not say, improving) some of our 
senses to a higher degree of acuteness than 
we now possess them, to make the fairest views 
of nature, or the noblest productions of art, 
appear horrid and deformed. To see things as 
they truly and in themselves are, would not 
always, perhaps, be of advantage to us in the 
intellectual world, any more than in the natu- 
ral. But, after all, who shall certainly assure 
us, that the pleasure of virtuous fame dies with 
its possessor, and reaches not to a farther scene 
of existence] There is nothing, it should 
seem, either absurd or unphilosophical in sup- 
posing it possible, at least, that the praises of 
the good and the judicious, that sweetest music 
to an honest ear in this w 7 orld, may be echoed 
back to the mansions of the next: that the 
poet's description of fame may be literally true, 
and though she walks upon earth, she may yet 
lift her head into heaven. 



THE LOVE OF FAME. 191 

But can it be reasonable to extinguish a pas- 
sion which nature has universally lighted up 
in the human breast, and which we constantly 
find to burn with most strength and brightness 
in the noblest and best formed bosoms ] Accord- 
ingly revelation is so far from endeavouring (as 
you suppose.) to eradicate the seed which na- 
ture hath thus deeply planted, that she rather 
seems, on the contrary, to cherish and forward 
its growth. To be exalted with honour, and to 
be had in everlasting remembrance, are in the 
number of those encouragements which the 
Jewish dispensation offered to the virtuous ; as 
the person from whom the author of the Chris- 
tian system received his birth, is herself repre- 
sented as rejoicing that all generations should 
call her blessed. 

To be convinced of the great advantage of 
cherishing this high regard to posterity, this no- 
ble desire of an after life in the breath of others, 
one need only look back upon the history of 
the ancient Greeks and Romans. What other 
principle was it, which produced that exalted 
strain of virtue in those days, that may well 
serve as a model to these] Was it not the 
consentiens laus bonorum, the incorrupta vox 
bene judicanturn (as Tully calls it,) the con- 
current approbation of the good, the uncorrupt- 
ed applause of the wise, that animated their 
most generous pursuits ! 

To confess the truth, I have been ever in- 
clined to think it a very dangerous attempt, to 
endeavour to lessen the motives of right con- 



192 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

duct, or to raise any suspicion concerning their 
solidity. The tempers and dispositions of man- 
kind are so extremely different, that it seems 
necessary they should be called into action by 
a variety of incitements. Thus, while some 
are willing to wed virtue for her personal 
charms, others are engaged to take her for the 
sake of her expected dowry : and since her fol- 
lowers and admirers have so little hopes from 
her in present, it were pity, methinks, to rea- 
son them out of any imagined advantage in re- 
version. 



DELICACY CONSTITUTIONAL, AND OFTEN 
DANGEROUS. 

Some people are subject to a certain delicacy 
of passion, which makes them extremely sen- 
sible to all the accidents of life, and gives them 
a lively joy upon every prosperous event, as 
well as piercing grief, when they meet with 
crosses and adversity. Favours and good of- 
fices easily engage their friendship, while the 
smallest injury provokes their resentment. Any 
honour or mark of distinction elevates them 
above measure : but they are as sensibly touch- 
ed with contempt. People of this character 
have, no doubt, much more lively enjoyments, 
as well as more pungent sorrows, than men of 
cool and sedate tempers : but I believe, when 
every thing is balanced, there is no one, who 
would not rather choose to be of the latter 



DELICACY OF TASTE. 193 

character, were he entirely master of his own 
disposition. Good or ill-fortune is very little at 
our own disposal ; and when a person who has 
this sensibility of temper meets with any mis- 
fortune, his sorrow or resentment takes entire 
possession of him, and deprives him of all rel- 
ish in the common occurrences of life; the 
right enjoyment of which forms the greatest 
part of our happiness. Great pleasures are 
much less frequent than great pains; so that a 
sensible temper cannot meet with fewer trials 
in the former way than in the latter ; not to 
mention, that men of such lively passions are 
apt to be transported beyond all bounds of pru- 
dence and discretion, and to take false steps in 
the conduct of life, which are often irretrieva- 
ble. 



DELICACY OF TASTE DESIRABLE. 

There is a delicacy of taste observable in 
some men, which very much resembles this 
delicacy of passion, and produces the same sen- 
sibility to beauty and deformity of every kind, 
as that does to prosperity and adversity, obliga- 
tions and injuries. When you present a poem 
or a picture to a man possessed of this talent, 
the delicacy of his feelings makes him to be 
touched very sensibly with every part of it; 
nor are the masterly strokes perceived with 
more exquisite relish and satisfaction, than the 
negligencies or absurdities with disgust and 
13 



194 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

uneasiness. A polite and judicious conversa- 
tion affords him the highest entertainment; 
rudeness or impertinence is as great a punish- 
ment to him. In short, delicacy of taste has 
the same effect as delicacy of passion : it en- 
larges the sphere both of our happiness and 
misery, and makes us sensible to pains as well 
as pleasures which escape the rest of mankind. 
I believe, however, there is no one, who will 
not agree with me, that, notwithstanding this 
resemblance, a delicacy of taste is as much to 
be desired and cultivated as a delicacy of pas- 
sion is to be lamented, and to be remedied if 
possible. The good or ill accidents of life are 
very little at our disposal; but we are pretty 
much masters what books we shall read, what 
diversions we shall partake of, and what com- 
pany we shall keep. Philosophers have endea- 
voured to render happiness entirely indepen- 
dent of every thing external that is impossible 
to be attained ; but every wise man will endea- 
vour to place his happiness on such objects as 
depend most upon himself; and that is not to 
be attained so much by any other means, as by 
this delicacy of sentiment. When a man is 
possessed of that talent, he is more happy by 
what pleases his taste, than by what gratifies 
his appetites; and receives more enjoyment from 
a poem or a piece of reasoning, than the most 
exquisite luxury can afford. 



DELICACY OF TASTE. 195 

IT TEACHES US TO SELECT OUR COMPANY. 

Delicacy of taste is favourable to love and 
friendship, by confining our choice to few peo- 
ple, and making us indifferent to the company 
and conversation of the greatest part of men. 
You will very seldom find that mere men of 
the world, whatever strong sense they may be 
endowed with, are very nice in distinguishing 
of characters, or in marking those insensible 
differences and gradations which make one man 
preferable to another. Any one that has com- 
petent sense, is sufficient for their entertain- 
ment; they talk to him of their pleasures and 
affairs with the same frankness as they would 
to any other ; and finding many who are fit to 
supply his place, they never feel any vacancy 
or want in his absence. But to make use of 
the allusion of a famous French author, the 
judgment may be compared to a clock or 
watch, where the most ordinary machine is 
sufficient to tell the hours ; but the most elabo- 
rate and artificial only can point the minutes 
and seconds, and distinguish the smallest differ- 
ences of time. One who has well digested his 
knowledge both of books and men, has little 
enjoyment but in the company of a few select 
companions. He feels too sensibly how much 
all the rest of mankind fall short of the notions 
which he has entertained ; and his affections 
being thus confined in a narrow circle, no won- 
der he carries them farther than if they were 



196 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

more general and undistinguished. The gaiety 
and frolic of a bottle companion improves with 
him into a solid friendship ; and the ardours of 
a youthful appetite into an elegant passion. 



DETRACTION A DETESTABLE VICE. 

It has been remarked, that men are general- 
ly kind in proportion as they are happy ; and it 
is said, even of the devil, that he is good-hu- 
moured when he is pleased. Every act, there- 
fore, by which another is injured, from whatever 
motive, contracts more guilt and expresses 
greater malignity, if it is committed in those 
seasons which are set apart to pleasantry and 
good-humour, and brightened with enjoyments 
peculiar to rational and social beings. 

Detraction is among those vices which the 
most languid virtue has sufficient force to pre- 
vent; because by detraction that is not gained 
which is taken away. " He who filches from 
me my good name," says Shakspeare, "enriches 
not himself, but makes me poor indeed." As no- 
thing, therefore, degrades human nature more 
than detraction, nothing more disgraces conver- 
sation. The detractor, as he is the lowest 
moral character, reflects greater dishonour upon 
his company, than the hangman ; and he whose 
disposition is a scandal to his species, should be 
more diligently avoided, than he who is scan- 
dalous only by his offence. 



DETRACTION. 197 

But for this practice, however vile, some 
have dared to apologize, by contending the re- 
port, by which they injured an absent charac- 
ter, was true ; this, however, amounts to no 
more than that they have not complicated mal- 
ice with falsehood, and that there is some dif- 
ference between detraction and slander. To 
relate all the ill that is true of the best man in 
the world, would probably render him the ob- 
ject of suspicion and distrust; and was this 
practice universal, mutual confidence and es- 
teem, the comforts of society, and the endear- 
ments of friendship, would be at an end. 

There is something unspeakably more hate- 
ful in those species of villany by which the 
law is evaded, than those by which it is vio- 
lated and defiled. Courage has sometimes pre- 
served rapacity from abhorrence, as beauty has 
been thought to apologize for prostitution ; but 
the injustice of cowardice is universally ab- 
horred, and, like the lewdness of deformity, has 
no advocate. Thus hateful are the wretches 
who detract with caution, and while they per- 
petrate the wrong, are solicitous to avoid the re- 
proach. They do not say, that Chloe forfeited 
her honour to Lysander ; but they say that such 
a report has been spread, they know not how 
true. Those who propagate these reports, fre- 
quently invent them ; and it is no breach of 
charity to suppose this to be always the case; 
because no man who spreads detraction would 
have scrupled to produce it ; and he who should 
diffuse poison in a brook, would scarce be ac- 



198 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN, 

quitted of a malicious design, though he should 
allege, that he received it of another who is 
doing the same elsewhere. 

Whatever is incompatible with the highest 
dignity of our nature, should indeed be ex- 
cluded from our conversation ; as companions, 
not only that which we owe to ourselves but to 
others, is required of us; and they who can in- 
dulge any vice in the presence of each other, 
are become obdurate in guilt, and insensible to 
infamy. 



LEARNING SHOULD BE SOMETIMES APPLIED 
TO CULTIVATE OUR MORALS. 

Envy, curiosity, and our sense of the imper- 
fection of our present state, incline us always 
to estimate the advantages which are in the 
possession of others above their real value. 
Every one must have remarked what powers 
and prerogatives the vulgar imagine to be con- 
ferred by learning. A man of science is ex- 
pected to excel the unlettered and unenlight- 
ened, even on occasions where literature is of 
no use, and among weak minds loses part of 
his reverence by discovering no superiority in 
those parts of life, in which all are unavoidably 
equal ; as when a monarch makes a progress 
to the remoter provinces, the rustics are said 
sometimes to wonder that they find him of the 
same size with themselves. 

These demands of prejudice and folly can 



LEARNING. 199 

never be satisfied, and therefore many of the 
imputations which learning suffers from disap- 
pointed ignorance, are without reproach. Yet 
it cannot be denied, that there are some failures 
to which men of study are peculiarly exposed. 
Every condition has its disadvantages. The 
circle of knowledge is too wide for the most 
active and diligent intellect, and while science 
is pursued with ardour, other accomplishments 
of equal use are necessarily neglected ; as a 
small garrison must leave one part of an ex- 
tensive fortress naked, when an alarm calls 
them to another. 

The learned, however, might generally sup- 
port their dignity with more success, if they 
suffered not themselves to be misled by super- 
fluous attainments of qualifications which few 
can understand or value, and by skill which 
they may sink into the grave without any con- 
spicuous opportunities of exerting. Raphael, 
in return to Adam's inquiries into the courses 
of the stars and the revolutions of heaven, 
counsels him to withdraw his mind from idle 
speculations, and, instead of watching motions 
which he has no power to regulate, to employ 
his faculties upon nearer and more interesting 
objects, the survey of his own life, the subjec- 
tion of his passions, the knowledge of duties 
which must daily be performed, and the detec- 
tion of dangers which must daily be incurred. 

This angelic counsel every man of letters 
should always have before him. He that de- 
votes himself wholly to retired study, naturally 



200 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

sinks from omission to forgetfulness of socia] 
duties, and from which he must be sometimes 
awakened, and recalled to the general condition 
of mankind. 



ITS PROGRESS. 

It has been observed by the ancients, That 
all the arts and sciences arose among free na- 
tions ; and that the Persians and Egyptians, 
notwithstanding all their ease, opulence and 
luxury, made but faint efforts towards those 
finer pleasures, which were carried to such 
perfection by the Greeks, amidst continual 
wars, attended with poverty, and the greatest 
simplicity of life and manners. It had also been 
observed, that as soon as the Greeks lost their 
liberty, though they increased mightily in rich- 
es, by the means of the conquest of Alexander, 
yet the arts from that moment declined amongst 
them, and have never since been able to raise 
their head in that climate. Learning was trans- 
planted to Rome, the only free nation at that 
time in the universe ; and having met with so 
favourable a soil, it made prodigious shoots for 
above.a century ; till the decay of liberty pro- 
duced also a decay of letters, and spread a total 
barbarism over the world. From these two ex- 
periments, of which each was double in its 
kind, and showed the fall of learning in despot- 
ic governments, as well as its rise in popular 
ones, Longinus thought himself sufficiently 



LEARNING. 201 

justified in asserting, that the arts and sciences 
could never flourish but in a free government ; 
and in this opinion he has been followed by- 
several eminent writers in our country, who 
either confined their view merely to ancient 
facts, or entertained too great a partiality in 
favour of that form of government which is es- 
tablished amongst us. 

But what would these writers have said to 
the instances of modern Rome and Florence'? 
Of which the former carried to perfection all 
the finer arts of sculpture, painting, and music, 
as well as poetry, though they groaned under 
slavery, and under the slavery of priests: 
while the latter made the greatest progress in 
the arts and sciences, after they began to lose 
their liberty by the usurpations of the family 
of Medicis. Ariosto, Tasso, Galilsso, no more 
than Raphael and Michael Angelo, were not 
born in republics. And though the Lombard 
school was famous as well as the Roman, yet 
the Venetians have had the smallest share in 
its honours, and seem rather inferior to the 
Italians in their genius for the arts and sci- 
ences. Rubens established his school at Ant- 
werp, not at Amsterdam ; Dresden, not Ham- 
burgh, is the centre of politeness in Germany. 

But the most eminent instance of the flourish- 
ing state of learning in despotic governments, 
is that of France, which scarce ever enjoyed 
an established liberty, and yet has carried the 
arts and sciences as near perfection as any 
other nation. The English are, perhaps, bet- 



202 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ter philosophers; the Italians better painters 
and musicians : the Romans were better ora- 
tors; but the French are the only people, 
except the Greeks, who have been at once phi- 
losophers, poets, orators, historians, painters, 
architects, sculptors,. and musicians. With re- 
gard to the stage, they have excelled even the 
Greeks, who have far excelled the English; 
and in common life they have in a great mea- 
sure perfected that art, the most useful and 
agreeable of any, Vart de vivre, the art of so- 
ciety and conversation. 

If we consider the state of the sciences and 
polite arts in our country, Horace's observation 
with regard to the Romans, may, in a great 
measure, be applied to the British, 

Sed in longum tamen revum 
Manserunt, hodieque manent vestigia ruris.* 

The elegance and propriety of' style have 
been very much neglected among us. We 
have no dictionary of our language, and scarce 
a tolerable grammar. The first polite prose we 
have, was wrote by a man who is still alive. 
As to Sprat, Locke, and even Temple, they 
knew too little of the rules of art to be esteem- 
ed very elegant writers. The prose of Bacon, 
Harrington, and Milton, is altogether stiff and 
pedantic ; though their sense be excellent. Men 
in this country have been so much occupied in 
the great disputes of religion, politics and phi- 

* The traces of rusticity long remained, and even now 
remain among us. 



LEARNING. 203 

losophy, that they have no relish for the minute 
observations of grammar and criticism. And 
though this turn of thinking must have consid- 
erably improved our sense and our talent of 
reasoning beyond those of other nations, it must 
be confessed, that even in those sciences above 
mentioned, we have not any standard book 
which we can transmit to posterity : and the 
utmost we have to boast of, are a few essays 
towards a more just philosophy; which, indeed, 
promise very much, but have not, as yet, reach- 
ed any degree of perfection. 



USELESS WITHOUT TASTE. 

A man may know exactly all the circles and 
ellipses of the Copernican system, and all the 
irregular spirals of the Ptolemaic, without per- 
ceiving that the former is more beautiful than 
the latter. Euclid has very fully explained 
every quality of the circle, but has not, in any 
proposition, said a word of its beauty. The rea- 
son is evident. Beauty is not a quality of the 
circle. It lies not in any part of the line, whose 
parts are all equally distant from a common 
centre. It is only the effect which that figure 
operates upon the mind, whose particular fabric 
or structure renders it susceptible of such sen- 
timents. In vain would you look fur it in the 
circle, or seek it either by your senses, or by 
mathematical reasonings, in all the properties 
vi that figure. 



204 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

The mathematician, who took no other plea- 
sure in reading Virgil but that of examining 
iEneas's voyage by the map, might understand 
perfectly the meaning of every Latin word em- 
ployed by that divine author, and consequently 
might have a distinct idea of the whole narra- 
tion ; he would even have a more distinct idea 
of it, than they could have who had not studied 
so exactly the geography of the poem. He 
knew, therefore, every thing in the poem. But 
he was ignorant of its beauty ; because the 
beauty, properly speaking, lies not in the poem, 
but the sentiment or taste of the reader. And 
where a man has no such delicacy of temper 
as to make him feel this sentiment, he must be 
ignorant of the beauty, though possessed of the 
science and understanding of an angel. 



ON THE GUILT OF INCURRING DEBTS WITHOUT 
EITHER A PROSPECT OR AN INTENTION OF 
PAYMENT. 

Among the various devices w T hich young men 
have invented to involve themselves in diffi- 
culties and in ruin, none is more frequent than 
that of incurring debt at a very early age with- 
out any real necessity. No sooner is the as- 
piring youth emancipated from his school, or 
his guardian and superintendents, than he be- 
comes, in his own idea, a man ; and not only 
so, but a man of consequence, whom it behoves 
to dress, an-d make a figure. To accomplish 



INCURRING DEBT. 205 

the purpose of making a figure, some expensive 
vices are to be affected or practised. But as 
the stipends of young men just entering into 
life are usually inconsiderable, it is necessary 
to borrow on the most disadvantageous terms, 
or to purchase the various requisites of a plea- 
surable life on credit. The debt soon accumu- 
lates from small beginnings to a great sum. 
The young adventurer continues, while his 
credit is good, in the same wild career; but 
adieu to real pleasure, to improvement, to 
honest industry, and to a quiet mind. His 
peace is wounded. A perpetual load seems to 
weigh him down ; and though his feelings may, 
by length of time and habit, become too cal- 
lous to be affected by the misery of his situa- 
tion, yet he is lost to all sincere enjoyment ; 
and, if he fall not a victim of despair, survives 
only to gain a precarious existence at the 
gaming-table, to deceive the unwary, and to 
elude the researches of persecuting creditors. 
Even if he be enabled, by the death of his pa- 
rents or rich relations, to pay the debts which 
his youthful folly has contracted, yet he has 
suffered long and much, and lost the beginning 
of life, the season of rational delight and solid 
improvement, in distress and fears, in fabricat- 
ing excuses and pretences, and in flying from 
the eager pursuit of duns and bailiffs. 

But this folly, however pregnant with mise- 
ry, is entitled to pity, and may, in some de- 
gree, admit of those usual palliations, — youth- 
ful ardour, and want of experience. Thousands, 



206 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

and tens of thousands, have ruined their for- 
tunes and their happiness by hastily running 
into debt before they knew the value of mo- 
ney, or the consequences of their embarrass- 
ment. We pity their misfortune; and, in the 
first part of their progress, we do not usually 
accuse them of dishonesty. 

But the habit of incurring debt, though in 
the earlier periods of life it may originate in 
thoughtlessness, commonly leads to a crime 
most atrocious in itself, and injurious to society. 
He who prayed against poverty, lest he should 
be poor, and steal, understood human nature. 
Difficulties and distresses have a natural ten- 
dency to lessen the restraints of conscience. 
The fortress of honour, when stormed by that 
sort of poverty which is occasioned by profli- 
gacy, and not defended with sound principles 
(such as men of the world do not often pos- 
sess,) has for the most part yielded at discre- 
tion. He, then, who began with incurring 
debt merely because he was strongly stimu- 
lated by passion or fancy, and was not able to 
pay for their gratification, proceeds, when the 
habit is confirmed, and the first scruples dis- 
missed, to contract debt wherever unsuspect- 
ing confidence will afford him an opportunity. 

If he possesses titles, distinctions, or any 
kind of eminence, he will not find it difficult 
to gain credit. Young tradesmen, desirous of 
making connexions, are ready to run any 
risque ; and hope that, if it is long before they 
receive their money, they shall not be without 



INCURRING DEBT. 207 

the great man's patronage or recommendation. 
But here also they are often deceived ; for the 
great man without principle, considers his 
creditors as his enemies, and never thinks of 
them but to contrive methods to avoid and de- 
ceive them. If he happens to receive any mo- 
ney, he takes care to expend it among stran- 
gers, who have no other demand upon him but 
for the commodity which he pays for at the 
time of purchase. The world is wide ; and 
when one set of credulous tradesmen are wea- 
ried with expectation and disappointment, the 
great man migrates to another part of the town 
or country, and condescends to confer on some 
ambitious but unfortunate mortal the honour of 
dealing with him. Thus he goes on during 
the greater part of his life ; and when the 
creditors are importunate, and the horrors of a 
gaol impend, he collects his property, and 
withdraws from the kingdom, or, living in dis- 
guise, enjoys his luxuries, and laughs at his de- 
luded tradesmen. Indeed, as most ill qualities 
go together, his pride is so great, that he 
scarcely vouchsafes to bestow upon such low 
creatures as trademen a moment's considera- 
tion. 

But while the builder, the draper, the tailor, 
the butcher, the baker, and the chandler, re- 
main unpaid, the jockey and the horse-dealer, 
the mistress and the brother-gamester, re- 
ceive ready money with ostentatious profusion. 
Sharpers and prostitutes, with all the qualities 
of thievery, riot in those riches which ought to 



208 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

be paid to honest men, who, with their families, 
are reduced to a state of starving, by feeding, 
clothing, and accommodating some hardened 
profligate and extravagant debauchee. Who 
but must feel indignation when he sees a man 
in high life, as it is called, eating a joint of 
meat of some poor tradesman, whose children 
are at the same moment begging of their pa- 
rents a morsel of bread ! 

Indeed, the pride and vanity of some per- 
sons, who value themselves on their birth, or 
their fashionable mode of life, induce them to 
look upon themselves as a superior order of be- 
ings, and to presume that they have a right to 
be still supported by their tradesmen in profu- 
sion and elegance, even after they are reduced 
in their circumstances, either by misfortune or 
misconduct. If an honest man makes his de- 
mand, he is impertinent ; his insolence is not to 
be borne ; he is dismissed ; but not till he evi- 
dently shows that he will no longer supply the 
commodities in which he deals. On his dis- 
mission, some exception is taken to his ac- 
count: a dispute ensues, and that dispute fur- 
nishes the fine gentleman or fine lady with a 
pretence for not paying the bill. In the mean 
time, card-parties, visitings, and all fashionable 
amusements, proceed as usual: for who would 
be so vulgar as to attend to the impertinence 
of the scum of the earth, or suffer one fashion- 
able pleasure to be set aside by the clamorous 
importunity of a mean mechanic ; though his 
meanness arises from his having spent his sub- 



INCURRING DEBT. 209 

stance in supplying the person who despises 
him with the instruments of luxury, or even 
the necessaries of life ] 

The profligacy, the vanity, the unceasing 
pursuit of pleasure, and the passion for exter- 
nal appearance, which characterize the present 
age, are necessarily productive of expense: 
expenses occasion distress ; and distress, where 
principles are deficient, dishonesty. No won- 
der, then, that in no age have sharpers, swin- 
dlers, and insolvent contractors of debt, so 
much abounded. There is hardly any mode of 
public life, especially in the metropolis, in 
which you can be engaged, without having 
your property exposed to the depredations of 
villains, who have made cheating a profession, 
and reduced the art of robbery to a regular 
system. 

Many of the persons who live on the sub- 
stance of others, by borrowing, purchasing, or 
employing, without intending and without be- 
ing able to pay, make a splendid figure, and 
pass for gentlemen and men of honour. But, 
however they may felicitate themselves on 
their success, and in the gratification of their 
pride and vanity, I shall not hesitate to pro- 
nounce them more criminal and detestable 
than highwaymen and house-breakers, because 
to the crime of actual theft they add a most 
ungenerous breach of confidence. 
14 



210 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN 



ON THE FOLLY OF BEING ANXIOUSLY CURIOUS 
TO INQUIRE WHAT IS SAID OF US IN OUR AB- 
SENCE. 

The best dispositions have usually the most 
sensibility. They have also that delicate re- 
gard for reputation which renders them sorely 
afflicted by the attacks of calumny. It is not 
unreasonable and excessive self-love, but a re- 
gard to that without which a feeling mind can- 
not be happy, which renders many of us atten- 
tive to every word which is whispered of us in 
our absence. 

From whatever motive it arises, an anxious 
curiosity to know the reports concerning our- 
selves is an infallible cause of much uneasiness. 
No virtue, no prudence, no caution, no generos- 
ity can preserve us from misrepresentation. 
Our conduct must be misunderstood by weak 
intellects, and by those who see only a part of 
it, and hastily form a judgment of the whole. 
Every man of eminence has those in his vicini- 
ty who hate, who envy, and who affect to des- 
pise him. These will see his actions with a 
jaundiced eye, and will represent them to 
others in the colours in which themselves be- 
hold them. Many, from carelessness, wanton- 
ness, or from a desire to entertain their compa- 
ny, are inclined to sport with respectable cha- 
racters, and love to display their ingenuity by 
the invention of a scandalous tale. Nothing 
renders a man more agreeable in many compa- 
nies than his possessing a fund of delicious anec- 



ANXIETY AS TO REPUTATION. 211 

dotes. Calumny is a kind of salt which, more 
frequently than wit, seasons the feast of con- 
versation. 

It is certain, then, that from weakness, wan- 
tonness, or malevolence, a man whose merit 
renders him a topic of conversation, will be 
misrepresented; and he who solicitously in- 
quires what is said of him, will certainly hear 
something which will render him uneasy. His 
uneasiness will be increased, when he finds the 
poisoned arrow is shot in the dark ; so that no 
abilities can repel the blow, and no innocence 
shield him from the assailant. Open attacks 
can be openly opposed ; but the obscure insinu- 
ation proceeds without the possibility of resist- 
ance, like the worm, which penetrates the ship 
that has withstood the cannon. It is better, 
therefore, not to be too anxious to discover 
attacks which, when discovered, add to our tor- 
ment, but cannot be successfully resisted. 

Indeed, we are apt to feel upon these occa- 
sions more acutely than we ought. We are 
told by a menial servant, or some other of our 
spies, that a person whom we esteemed our 
friend has spoken slightingly of us, made a joke 
upon us, or cast a severe reflection. Immediate- 
ly upon hearing the information, our blood boils 
within us. The indignity, we imagine, calls for 
our warmest resentment. Our friend is discard- 
ed, or suspected, as a treacherous wretch, un- 
worthy of our love and confidence. This hasty 
ebullition of resentment is, I am ready to allow, 
very natural, and so are many other disorders of 



212 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

the passions. But, if we were to study the case, 
and acquire a right idea of the ways of men in 
society, we should find that in such instances 
our resentment may not only be too violent, but 
causeless ; for we should recollect, that a man, 
without absolutely relinquishing his principles, 
is often inclined, from the incidental influence 
of temper, of levity, of frolic, of intemperance, 
of precipitation, to speak inconsistently with 
them, and in a manner which the general tenor 
of his conduct uniformly contradicts. We 
should also recollect, that, besides this tempo- 
rary variableness of the mind, the tongue is 
unruly, and, when the spirits or the passions 
are high, utters almost spontaneously what the 
mind, which ought to hold the bridle, would, in 
more deliberate moments, willingly restrain. 
If we reflect upon these things, and upon what 
has fallen under our experience, we may, per- 
haps, discover that real and worthy friends may 
speak unkindly of us, without any design to 
hurt us, or to violate the bonds of friendship. 
It is the infirmity of human nature which causes 
unintentional lapses in the duties of friendship, 
as well as in all other duties. By too eagerly 
listening to a casual censure uttered in a care- 
less hour, we increase the evil, and cause a 
rupture where no real offence was intended. 

A man who is constantly' solicitous to hear 
the reports which are raised of him, of his 
family, and of his conduct, depends, in a great 
measure, for happiness upon his servants ; upon 
those, whose ideas are narrow, and whose 



ANXIETY AS TO REPUTATION. 213 

hearts too often ungrateful; who overhear a 
part of a conversation, and supply the rest, 
when they repeat it, by invention ; who love to 
entertain their visitors and acquaintance with 
the private affairs of the house in which they 
live, and are apt to blacken the characters of 
their supporters and protectors, in revenge for 
a reprimand, or from the natural malignity of a 
bad heart. The tongue, said Juvenal, is the 
worst part of a bad servant. But the master 
of a family who is always endeavouring to col- 
lect what is uttered by his humble friends, as 
servants have been called, will find himself sub- 
ject to perpetual mortification. And it is a cir- 
cumstance which renders his solicitude peculiar- 
ly unwise, that, after all the idle stories which 
their garrulity or resentment may lead them to 
propagate, they may be as good servants as any 
others he might engage in their room, or as 
human nature, in its uncultivated state, is 
found in general to afford. Their foolish words, 
once uttered, vanish into air ; and they return 
to their duties ; and probably will serve their 
masters as usefully and as faithfully as if no- 
thing had been said in their angry or unthink- 
ing moments. So little meaning and weight 
are there in the words of the weak and the 
passionate ; and so inconsistent is rt with wis- 
dom to listen to that tale, which, while it sinks 
into the mind of him who hears that he is the 
subject of it, passes over the minds of others, 
as the shadow over the earth ! Supposing it, 
however, to be noticed, remembered, and even 



214 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

capable of doing" him an injury, yet he can 
only make it more mischievous by paying atten- 
tion to it, and by giving it an importance not 
its own. 

It will conduce, in a peculiar manner, to the 
peace of all persons who superintend large 
families, or large numbers of assistants, or of 
subordinate classes ; such as the governors of 
schools and colleges, the generals of armies, 
the employers of manufacturers, and many 
others in similar situations ; if they can habit- 
uate themselves to disregard those calumnies 
which will certainly be poured upon them, 
though they should be far from meriting the 
least degree of ill-treatment. Their hearts will, 
indeed, be often wrung with grief, if they are 
sensible of every ill-natured whisper which 
makes its way, like the worm in the earth, and 
may at last corrode the worthiest bosom, if the 
breast-plate of reason and resolution is not pre- 
viously applied. Whoever has many individu- 
als under his direction, is exposed to the malice 
of them all ; and, as dispositions and tempers 
are often diametrically opposite, he can scarce- 
ly fail to offend as many as he pleases ; for the 
very conduct which pleases one party will give 
offence to the other. Friends, as well as ene- 
mies, are liable to ill-humour and caprice; and 
every poisoned arrow is levelled at the super- 
intendent, as at a conspicuous mark. A man 
who has many persons under him must not only 
not go in search of the darts which are thrown 
at him, but, even when he cannot avoid seeing 



ANXIETY AS TO REPUTATION. 215 

them, must let them waste their force unre- 
garded. If he adopt not this conduct, his life 
will be a perpetual torment, and may possibly 
terminate in that which is the frequent death 
of good men, — a broken heart. 

Perhaps we might be less inclined to inquire 
what is said of us in our absence, and less af- 
fected with it when discovered, if we consid- 
ered how freely we ourselves are apt to speak 
even of those we love. We censure and we 
ridicule others in the gaiety and thoughtless- 
ness of conversation, and what has been said 
makes so little impression on ourselves, that we 
forget it ; and in the next hour probably speak 
with honour of the same persons, and then 
and on all occasions, would be ready to serve 
them. Beware of the man, says Horace, 
who backbites his friend, or who defends him 
not when attacked by others. But such is 
man's nature, that, in a fit of levity, he will 
speak of another, and hear him spoken of, in 
such terms, as in his serious moments he would 
deeply resent. Let any man ask himself, 
whether he has not often said such things of 
others, without meaning to injure them, or ever 
thinking seriously of what he was saying, as, 
if he were to hear that they were said of him- 
self, in any manner whatever, he would deep- 
ly resent] Let him, then, when he finds he 
has been carelessly censured, endeavour to see 
the case in the same light in which he saw it 
when he carelessly censured others. Indeed, 
it must be allowed, that a man of sensibility 



216 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

and honour cannot take too much pains to vin- 
dicate his character from any open and direct 
calumny ; but the same spirit which leads him 
to that manly conduct will induce him to leave 
the dirty dealers in scandal to themselves, and 
to the misery of their mean occupation. 

Though a delicate regard for character be 
virtuous and rational, yet it is really true, that 
we commonly estimate our own value among 
others much higher than it is estimated by 
them. What is said of us, seldom sinks so 
deeply into their minds, as, from a vain idea of 
our own importance, we are apt to imagine. 
We are occasionally talked of, it may be, in 
the course of common conversation, and serve 
for topics, together with the weather, the wind, 
and the news of the day ; but he w 7 ho thinks 
that he is the constant object of his neighbour's 
accurate and close inspection, is ignorant of hu- 
man nature. Man's chief object of attention 
is himself; and though, to fill an idle hour, he 
may talk of others, it is carelessly and indif- 
ferently ; and whether he speaks in praise or 
dispraise, he often means neither to serve nor 
to injure. From supposing ourselves of more 
consequence with others than we are, we sus- 
pect that they are conversing about us, when 
they really think not of us ; and, when they 
are known by us to have spoken unkindly or 
contemptuously, we immediately consider them 
as declared enemies. Our suspicions are 
awakened when led to entertain bad opinions 
of mankind, and our good-humour is soured for 



ANXIETY AS TO REPUTATION. 217 

ever. "But good-humour," says an elegant 
writer, " is the salt which gives a seasoning to 
the feast of life, and which, if it be wanting, 
renders the feast incomplete. Many causes 
contribute to impair this amiable quality, but 
nothing, perhaps, more than bad opinions of 
mankind." To avoid bad opinions of man- 
kind, much of their ill deeds and ill sayings 
must be attributed to thoughtlessness, and not to 
malignity alone ; we must not always be on the 
watch to hear what is said against us in an un- 
guarded hour; we must be humble, and con- 
sider whether we do not treat others just as 
we complain of being treated by them ; and, 
while we complain of mankind, whether our- 
selves, and the dispositions which we entertain, 
do not furnish some of the justest causes of the 
complaint. Upon the whole, let it be our first 
object to do our duty, and not to be very anx- 
ious about any censure but that of conscience. 

Let the weak and the ill-natured enjoy the 
poor pleasure of whispering calumny and de- 
traction, and let the man of sense and spirit 
display the wisdom and dignity of disregarding 
them. The dog bays the moon, but the moon 
still shines on in all its beautiful serenity and 
lustre, and moves in its orbit with undisturbed 
regularity. 

The Scriptures, among all their other recom- 
mendations, abound with passages which finely 
portray the human heart. I will cite one pas- 
sage, which is very apposite to the subject of 
this paper : " Take no heed to all words that 



218 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

are spoken, lest thou hear thy servant curse 
thee. For oftentimes, also thine own heart 
knoweth, that thou thyself, likewise, hast cursed 
others." Bishop Hurd has an excellent sermon 
on this text, the perusal of which suggested 
some of the foregoing observations. 



ON AFFECTATION OF THE VICES AND FOLLIES 
OF MEN OF EMINENCE. 

It has frequently happened that men distin- 
guished by their genius, have, from an unset- 
tled habit of life, from an affectation of singu- 
larity, or from uncommon warmth of constitu- 
tion, neglected the rules of prudence, and 
plunged themselves into the miseries of vice 
and dissipation. They who are but slightly 
acquainted with the lives of our English writers 
can recollect many instances of men of the 
brightest parts, whose lives, after an uninter- 
rupted course of misery, have terminated under 
the pressure of want, in the confinement of 
a gaol. They have been admired, and at the 
same time neglected ; praised, and at the same 
time starved. 

As the consequences of their imprudence 
are generally fatal, and generally known, a 
reasonable mind would scarcely believe that 
any should be found ambitious of treading in 
their footsteps when they err. Yet, such at- 
traction has the brilliancy of literary reputa- 
tion, that many a witling who pens a stanza 



AFFECTATION OF VICE. 219 

while he should be engrossing a deed, looking 
upon himself as a genius of uncommon magni- 
tude, thinks it necessary, in order to complete 
his character, to plunge into the excesses of 
drunkenness and debauchery. When his follies 
have thrown him out of his profession, ruined 
his health, and shut him up in a prison, he con- 
soles himself with reflecting, that he shares 
the same fate which the great wits, his prede- 
cessors, have shared before him. He is happy 
even to be wretched, with an Otway, a Dryden, 
or a Savage. 

This unfortunate conduct is owing to a mis- 
taken opinion, too generally adopted, that vice 
is the mark of laudable spirit, and that spirit is 
the characteristic of genius. Prudence, cau- 
tion, common sense, are, in the idea of many, 
the concomitants of dullness. The phlegmatic 
disposition of a fool, say they, can guide him 
through life in the straight road of prudence ; 
but the volatility of genius is continually 
tempted to turn out of the direct path to gather 
flowers on the sides, to view every pleasing 
prospect, and to discover new ways through 
unfrequented labyrinths. 

But it may be a reasonable question, whether 
this propensity to deviation be not a weakness, 
rather than a superior strength of mind ; whe- 
ther it be not sometimes the voluntary effect 
of pride and affectation; and whether not 
oftener caused by a restlessness of constitution, 
than by a more energetic activity, or an acuter 
perception. Sensibility of mind, and fineness 



220 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of feelings, are always the attendants of true 
genius. These, which by themselves consti- 
tute a good heart, when joined to a good head, 
naturally give a greater tendency to virtue than 
to vice ; for they are charmed with beauty, and 
disgusted with every kind of deformity. Vir- 
tue, therefore, who is amiable in the eyes of 
her enemies, must have additional charms for 
those whose susceptibility of beauty is more 
delicate and refined ; and Vice who is loath- 
some in her nature, must appear uncommonly 
odious to those who are singularly shocked at 
all real turpitude. 

Nor are there wanting instances, to prove 
that men of the most exalted genius can be 
men of the most unspotted virtue. Addison, 
the glory of our nation, was equalled in his 
abilities only by his piety, by the purity of his 
morals, the integrity of his heart, and the pru- 
dence of his conduct. Pope was a man of ex- 
emplary piety and goodness. Gay, though 
licentious in his writings, is said to have been 
uncontaminated by the vices of the world ; and 
though instances are numerous on the other 
side, yet these few are sufficient for the refuta- 
tion of that prevalent notion, that great genius 
is incompatible with steady prudence and con- 
sistent virtue. 

The folly of those who are only pretenders 
to genius, and who affect a vice as essential to 
the character they assume, is as pitiable as it 
is ridiculous. Their egregious vanity will pro- 



AFFECTATION OF VICE. 221 

bably render all addresses to them useless ; but 
they may take it as an infallible prediction, 
that dear-bought experience will soon induce 
them to wish they had altered their conduct, 
when it shall be too late to enjoy the benefits 
of an early amendment 

The fatal error of supposing vice the charac- 
teristic of spirit, has led many a parent to undo 
the child whose happiness he most wished to 
promote. The man of parts and fashion sends, 
indeed, his boy to school ; but cannot bear that 
he should apply to books with any remarkable 
diligence, lest he should be mistaken for a plod- 
der ; nor that he should be singularly tractable 
and modest, lest he should be thought deficient 
in spirit ; but ventures to form sanguine hopes 
of his future eminence, if he be the ringleader 
of every riot, and fortunate enough to gain at 
school the appellation of a Pickle. 

Great writers have, indeed, indirectly patron- 
ised the cause of scepticism and immorality ; 
but, if names are to have weight in this argu- 
ment, to a Rousseau and a Voltaire we may 
confidently oppose an Addison, a Johnson, and 
many more in the retired walks of literary life, 
whom every Virtue, as well as every Muse, is 
proud to claim as her deserving votary. 



222 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ON THE MEANS OF RENDERING OLD AGE HO- 
NOURABLE AND COMFORTABLE, 

It is a melancholy consideration that man, 
as he advances in life, degenerates in his na- 
ture, and gradually loses those tender feelings 
which constitute one of his highest excellencies. 
The tear of sensibility, said Juvenal, is the 
most honourable characteristic of the human 
race. 

Whatever real pain may sometimes be occa- 
sioned by sensibility, is, in general, counterbal- 
anced by agreeable sensations, which are not 
the less sincere and soothing because they do 
not excite the joy of thoughtless merriment. 
The anguish of the sympathetic heart is keen; 
but no less exalted are its gratifications. Not- 
withstanding all that has been said on the hap- 
piness of a stoical disposition, every one who 
has formed a true estimate of things will de- 
precate it as a curse that degrades his nature. 
It is the negative happiness of the dullest of 
quadrupeds, doomed to the vilest drudgery. 
Who would wish to be a Boeotian, whose lot 
had fallen in Attica 1 

Wretched, however, as is the state, when 
the heart ceases to feel the quick vibrations of 
love and pity, we are all hastening to it by that 
law of our nature which obliges us, when ar- 
rived at a certain point of perfection, to recede 
with retrograde rapidity from all that gave us 
the power of pleasing or receiving pleasure. 
But if old age were attended only with the de- 



OLD AGE. 223 

privation of amiable qualities, the loss of sensi- 
bility might often be esteemed a happiness to 
the individual, as it would prevent him from 
feeling one of the greatest of natural and un- 
deserved calamities. But the truth is, the ab- 
sence of all that is lovely is sometimes supplied 
by all that is odious; as in the season of win- 
ter, the verdure and music of the forest are not 
only no more, but are succeeded by the howling 
of the blast, and the dreary prospect of naked- 
ness and horror. Old age, though dead to many 
pleasing sensations, is still feelingly alive to 
bodily pain. 

Of these evils, part is derived from nature, 
and is inevitable, and part from an erroneous 
conduct, which may be regulated by reason 
and philosophy. 

When by age the body becomes debilitated, 
languor or pain must necessarily ensue. Bodily 
infirmities gradually impair the strength of the 
mind. Uneasy sensations, continued for a long 
time, sour the native sweetness of the temper. 
And the peevishness, the moroseness, and the 
severity, which characterize the last stage of 
life, however disgustful, are to be palliated, and 
no more deserve to be censured as voluntary 
faults, than the aching of the joints. They are 
the natural result of mental pain, and follow 
from a wounded mind, no less spontaneously 
or unavoidably than blood gushes from the in- 
cision of an artery. They disturb tranquillity, 
and poison convivial enjoyment; but they 
ought to be patiently borne with, if not from 



224 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

motives of humanity, yet from the considera- 
tion that the day is not far distant when we 
shall stand in need of the same indulgence. 
And we may hereafter experimentally know 
how cutting to the heart are the impatient re- 
proaches of those who are bound by the ties of 
conjugal, filial, and domestic duty, to soothe us 
under their pressure of calamity, and, as the 
pious poet expresses it, to rock the cradle of 
declining age. 

But experience proves, that old age is not 
always attended with natural infirmity. Origin- 
al strength of constitution, or habitual temper- 
ance, often produces a green old age. In this 
case, the odious qualities usually attributed to 
that period are without excuse. Proportionate 
improvement should be the effect of long ob- 
servation and experience. The vice of avarice, 
the characteristic distinction of the last stage 
of life, is then more than ever unreasonable. 
It is no less absurd, as it has often been said, 
than to provide a greater quantity of stores, 
the nearer the voyage approaches to its conclu- 
sion. It is also the source of many other de- 
testable dispositions. It habituates the heart 
to suffer the sight of woe without commisera- 
tion ; because pity prompts to relieve, and re- 
lief is attended with expense. Hardness of 
heart, like all its other tendencies, is increased 
by voluntary indulgence; and he who Iras long 
disregarded the happiness or misery of those 
who were allied to him by the common tie of 
humanity, will soon become unkind among his 



OLD AGE. 225 

nearer connexions, cruel to his family and 
friends, and a self- tor men tor. 

Another quality, which causes the old man 
to be avoided by those who are most capable of 
affording- him amusement, is an unreasonable 
austerity of manners. A stranger to the feel- 
ings of youth, and forgetful that he once was 
young, he judges even the innocent sallies of 
lively spirits and a warm heart, by the severest 
dictates of rigid prudence. His judgment, how- 
ever, he finds is little attended to by those who 
are addressed on all sides by a more alluring 
voice. He becomes impatient and querulous. 
He condemns every thing that is produced in 
the present times, and extols the fashions, the 
diversions, the dress, the manners, the learning, 
the taste, that prevailed in the days of his 
youth, and which appeared to him superior to 
those of the present times, solely because his 
powers of perception were then more lively 
and acute ; the very reason why the present 
appear with such irresistible charms in the eyes 
of his grandson. 

For the natural evils of old age, relief is to 
be sought from the physician rather than the 
moralist. But philosophy can assuage the pain 
which it cannot cure. It can suggest reflec- 
tions, which operate like balsam on the wounds 
of the mind. It can teach us to bear those evils 
which it cannot remove, and, by calling forth 
our powers of resistance, enable us to alleviate 
the load. 

All, however, are not capable of receiving 
15 



226 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

the benefits of philosophy. Few, but those 
whose understandings have been cultivated, and 
affections refined by liberal education, are able 
to understand or profit by the wise precepts of 
an Epictetus or a Cicero. Of still greater effi- 
cacy than the philosophy of these, or any other 
writers, Religion steps in to infuse an ingredi- 
ent into the bitter cup of life, which never fails 
to sweeten it, and which is adapted to the taste 
of every human creature. 

Religion, indeed, is able of itself most effec- 
tually to dissipate the clouds, and to diffuse a 
sunshine on the evening of life. But to those 
who are conversant in literature, the celebrated 
treatise of Cicero on old age, may be collater- 
ally recommended as affording solid consola- 
tion. Many moral treatises, however just and 
pleasing they may appear on the perusal, are of 
little use in the conduct of life, and terminate 
in speculative amusement. But the Treatise on 
Old Age prescribes rules, and suggests ideas, 
which, if permitted to influence practice, must 
render that period of life truly pleasing and 
honourable. Every old man who wishes to be 
wise and happy, and consequently an object of 
respect, should turn it over, as Horace advises 
the student to peruse the Greek volumes, by 
day and night. Nor can an ignorance of the 
Latin language be pleaded in excuse for the 
omission, since the elegant translation of Mel- 
moth has preserved all the meaning of the 
original, together with a great share of its 
grace and spirit. 



OLD AGE. 227 

The indigent and the uninstructed cannot 
enjoy the additional benefit of pagan wisdom ; 
but they have the comfort to know, that evan- 
gelical philosophy is fully adequate to the cure 
of mental disease, and at the same time requires 
neither extraordinary abilities, nor the opportu- 
nities of learned leisure, nor the toil of study. 
An attendance upon the offices of religion, and 
on the duties of charity, at the same time that 
it fills up the vacant hours of superannuated 
life with that cheerfulness which ever attends 
laudable employment, tends to inspire ideas of 
patience and resignation. A devotional taste 
or spirit will afford the most lively enjoyments. 
The turbulent pleasures of youth may be suc- 
ceeded by a religious fervour ; by a gentle flame 
which is capable of warming the cold blood of 
age, and of affording satisfactions similar in 
degree to those of more youthful passions, with- 
out their danger or criminality. 

Thus may the dignity of age be supported; 
and upon its dignity greatly depends its happi- 
ness. It is that alone which can repel the in- 
solence of youth, too often instigated, by the 
levity of thoughtless health, to forget the re- 
verence which among the ancients was thought 
due to the hoary head. It is really lamentable 
to observe, in many families, the aged parent 
slighted and neglected, and, like an old-fashion- 
ed piece of furniture, or useless lumber, thrown 
aside with contempt. Such treatment is dis- 
gustingly unnatural; but it is not easily to be 
avoided, where there is no personal merit, no 



228 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

authority derived from superior wisdom, no 
goodness of disposition to compensate the want 
of other attractive qualities. Tenderness and 
affection may be patient and assiduous ; but 
who would not rather command the attention 
of respect, than excite the aid of pity ! For the 
sake, however, of domestic happiness, it should 
be remembered, that the authoritative air of 
wisdom must be tempered with a sweetness of 
manners ; and it will be found, that the reve- 
rence which does not exclude love is always 
the most desirable. 

To preserve the sensibility of youth at an 
advanced period is difficult, because reason and 
philosophy, it is to be feared, can contribute 
little to its continuance. The loss of it is a 
natural consequence of decay. Much of the 
milk of human kindness, as it is often called, 
flows from a fine contexture of the nerves ; a 
contexture which is broken, and a subtil ty 
which is destroyed by long' duration. 

Excess, however, precipitates the effects of 
time. Temperance in youth, together with 
the other advantages of that happy period, will 
protract its sensibility. And among the many 
arguments for early wisdom, this must have 
great weight, — that wisdom in youth is usually 
followed by happiness in age. 

Perhaps nothing may contribute more to 
prolong the amiable dispositions of youth, than 
the retaining of a taste for its innocent amuse- 
ments. We often grow old in our sentiments 
before we are stricken in years. We accustom 



OLD AGE. 229 

ourselves to melancholy ideas of gradual decay, 
and, before we are incapacitated for enjoyment, 
renounce the innocent satisfaction which we 
might partake. Pleasurable ideas, no less 
than painful, are caught by sympathy. He 
who frequents the circles of youth and cheer- 
fulness, will find himself involuntarily inspired 
with gaiety ; he will, for a while, forget his 
cares ; his wrinkles will be smoothed, and his 
heart dilated. And though he will not experi- 
ence the effect of Medea's cauldron in the re- 
novation of his body, he will feel his mind, in 
a great measure, restored to its former vigour 
and activity. 

The books we read in age will have a great 
influence on the temper, as well as on the con- 
duct and the understanding. After a certain 
period, many of us, from motives of mistaken 
propriety, close our books of entertainment, 
and peruse nothing but those serious treatises, 
which, though proper at certain times, yet, 
when perused without variety, induce a settled 
melancholy, rather than a cheerful wisdom. 
Why should the imagination, that fertile source 
of all that is delightful, be left uncultivated at 
a time when pleasures become most deficient ! 
Why should the works of a Horace, a Virgil, 
a Homer, be entirely laid aside for the gloomy 
meditations of a Senaca and Antoninus] The 
judicious mixture of books addressed to the 
fancy with those which enlighten the under- 
standing, would increase the effect of both, at 



230 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

the same time that it would contribute to health 
and happiness by affording- lively pleasure. 

Horace wished that he might not spend his 
old age without his lyre. Music is, indeed, a 
sweet companion in every stage of life ; but to 
the last it is particularly adapted. It furnishes 
employment without painful exertion, and while 
it charms the sense, soothes the heart to repose. 
After all, to religion we must recur for the 
best ornament of the hoary head, for the firm- 
est support and sweetest consolation of decay- 
ing nature. 



ON THE NECESSITY OF TEMPERANCE TO THE 
HEALTH OF THE MIND. 

The advantages which arise from regulating 
the several appetites to the health of the body, 
have been too repeatedly insisted upon to re- 
quire any farther animadversion. The present 
remarks shall be confined to temperance in 
diet, and to the advantages which accrue from 
it to the health of the mind. 

How far the intellectual faculties are con- 
nected with the animal economy, is a disquisi- 
tion which rather belongs to the natural philo- 
sopher than to the moralist. The experience 
of every individual must convince him of their 
alliance, so far as that the mind and body sym- 
pathize in all the modifications of pleasure or 
of pain. 

One would imagine, that the Stoical apathy 



TEMPERANCE. 231 

was founded on a notion of the independence 
of the mind on the body. According to this 
philosophy, the mind may remain, as it were, 
an unconcerned spectator, while the body un- 
dergoes the most excruciating torments; but 
the moderns, however disposed to be Stoics, 
cannot help being a little afflicted by a fit of 
the gout or stone. 

If the mind suffers with the body in the vio- 
lence of pain and acuteness of disease, it is 
usually found to recover its wonted strength 
when the body is restored to health and vigour. 

But there is one kind of sympathy, in which 
the mind continues to suffer even after the body 
is relieved. When the listless languor and the 
nauseous satiety of recent excess is gradually 
worn off, the mind still continues for a while 
to feel a burden which no efforts can remove, 
and to be surrounded with a cloud which time 
only can dissipate. 

Didactic authors, who have undertaken to 
prescribe rules for the student in his pursuit of 
knowledge, frequently insist on a regularity 
and abstinence in the article! of food and wine. 
It is, indeed, a fruitless labour to aim at in- 
creasing the stock of ideas, and improving 
the intellectual powers, without a strict ob- 
servance of the laws of Temperance and Fru- 
gality. 

It has been remarked, that the founders of 
colleges who spared no expense in the embel- 
lishment of the buildings, were not so liberal 
in providing the indulgencies of the table. 



232 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

Perhaps those no less judicious than pious pa- 
trons of learning- were sensible of the utility of 
frequent fasting and temperate meals, in promot- 
ing" literary, as well as moral and religious, 
improvement. Nature's wants they took care 
to satisfy ; and Nature, uncorrupted, wants but 
little. 

Horace, in a satire in which he professedly 
enumerates the advantages of Temperance, 
observes, with a beautiful energy of expression, 
M that the body overcharged with the excess of 
yesterday, weighs down the mind together with 
itself, and fixes to the earth that particle of the 
divine spirit." 

That Aurora is a friend to the Muses, is al- 
most proverbial, and, like all those aphorisms 
which are founded on experience, is a just re- 
mark ; but, if an adequate cause were to be 
assigned for this effect, I know not whether it 
might not justly be attributed as much to fast- 
ing* as to the refreshment of sleep. The empti- 
ness of the stomach it is which tends to give 
to the understanding", acuteness, to the imagi- 
nation, vigour, anfr to the memory, retention. 
But temperance must not be suffered to become 
unhealthy abstemiousness; for inanition is no 
less injurious to the mind and body than reple- 
tion. 

It is well known that the principal meal of 
the ancients was the supper ; and it has been 
matter of surprise that they, whose wisdom 
was so generally conspicuous in the several in- 
stitutions of common life, should adopt a prao 



ADHERENCE TO OUR VOCATION. 233 

tice which is now universally esteemed injuri- 
ous to health. It is, however, not unreasonable 
to suppose, that they were unwilling to clog 
their intellects by satisfying the cravings of 
hunger in the day-time, the season of business 
and deliberation, and chose rather to indulge 
themselves in the hour of natural festivity, 
when no care remained but to retire from the 
banquet to the pillow. 



ON THE VANITY AND FOLLY OF DEPARTING 
FROM OUR PROPER SPHERE TO BECOME AU- 
THORS AND ORATORS, WITHOUT PREVIOUS 
AND SUFFICIENT PREPARATION. 

It has been observed, that the writer who 
declaims against vanity is probably, at the same 
time, under its influence. He aims at glory 
by declaiming against it. There are, however, 
some species of vanity which, in comparison 
with others, are not only excusable, but almost 
laudable. The vanity of wishing to appear in 
print, when the person who entertains it has 
been well educated, and is free from the neces- 
sity of attention to any particular business for 
his support, frequently operates as a stimulus 
to industry ; and industry seldom fails of be- 
coming, in some mode or other, beneficial. If 
he who is really a student by profession feels 
an ambition to become an author, though he 
should fail through the defect of his abilities, 



234 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

yet he cannot be said to have acted out of cha- 
racter ; neither does it often happen, that the 
time and attention which he has given to his 
work is ruinous to himself or family; for study 
is his employment, and he has been labouring 
in his vocation. He has innocently amused, 
and perhaps improved himself, though unable 
to communicate with success either improve- 
ment or amusement, to others. His vanity 
may be pardoned, though the fruits of it cannot 
be praised or admired. 

But it is common in this age to find traders, 
and even manufacturers of a very subordinate 
rank, so fascinated with the brilliancy of litera- 
ry fame, or so overrun with what has been 
called the itch of scribbling, that they devote 
that time and thought to tagging wretched 
rhymes, or penning paltry prose, which ought 
to be spent in providing food and clothing for 
themselves and their families. 

The unfortunate man who has once contract- 
ed this lamentable distemper immediately feels 
an aversion for his trade or manual employ- 
ment. He considers himself as a great natural 
genius, who has been brought up by his injudi- 
cious parents to a business far beneath him, 
and for which he is totally unfit. He is too 
delicate for hard or disagreeable labour, and 
too volatile for the phlegmatic employment of 
a counter or a counting-house. But it is a cer- 
tain truth, that we seldom succeed in the mode 
of life which we do not love ; and distress of 
every kind is the certain consequence of relin- 



ADHERENCE TO OUR VOCATION. 235 

quishing the service of Mercury, to pay court 
to the Muses. 

I wish the literary trader or mechanic to 
consider how very much out of character a 
student by profession would appear, were he to 
invade the province of the work-shop, and to 
lay down the pen and the book for the chisel, 
or the hammer, or the last, or the trowel. He 
would succeed but ill in his studies if he chose 
to spend his time at the counter and in the 
warehouse, instead of the library ; and the 
trader and the mechanic may assure them- 
selves, that notwithstanding the flattering sug- 
gestions of their own vanity, they usually 
appear no less absurd, and succeed no less un- 
happily, in writing verses, or composing ora- 
tions, than the student would appear in making 
a shoe, or retailing cheese and haberdashery. 

This unhappy rage for wasting paper is not 
only attended with the loss of fame, but of 
money. The materials necessary for printing, 
and the modes of announcing the important 
production to the public, are unavoidably at- 
tended with considerable expense; and, alas! 
the sale is usually so inconsiderable, as scarce- 
ly to pay for the wear of pens, and the con- 
sumption of ink. But it is really lamentable 
to see that money unnecessarily expended on 
paper and print, which ought to go to butchers, 
bakers, brewers, and chandlers. I cannot help 
thinking it a benevolent action, when the pe- 
riodical publications treat productions which 
originate from such authors as low tradesmen 



k ZOO THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

and mechanics, with sarcasm and ridicule. 
Though the lash of criticism may make the 
simple culprit smart for a little while, it may 
have a most beneficial effect in saving him- 
self from ridicule, or his family from starving. 
A mercantile or mechanical author, swelled 
with fancied importance, and neglecting his 
business in pursuit of literary fame, would fur- 
nish no bad topic for theatrical derision. In- 
deed, any effectual method of exploding a folly 
which is so pregnant with misery in private 
life is greatly desirable ; and no treatment can 
be so effectual in suppressing what originates 
in vanity as that which mortifies it most, — con- 
tempt and ridicule. 

But this literary madness of the trading and 
mechanical orders displays itself in various 
symptoms. If it produces many writers, I be- 
lieve it produces more orators. They who 
cannot write, or at least cannot spell, are more 
inclined to let their genius evaporate by the 
volubility of the tongue than of the pen; by 
which method their defects in the science of 
orthography are concealed in elegance and pa- 
thos of elocution. The subjects are invariably 
politics and religion. If they can read, they 
derive political arguments from newspaper 
essays, and religious from Bolingbroke, Tindal, 
and the rest of that low and contemptible set 
of writers. If they cannot read, they succeed 
better still ; for then the arguments must ne- 
cessarily proceed from immediate inspiration. 

Now, I wash I could prevail on those redoubt- 



ADHERENCE TO OUR VOCATION. 237 

able rhetoricians to be hearers as well as speak- 
ers, and to listen to a very powerful and pathet- 
ic species of oratory, — the cries and distress of 
a family at home, reduced to a state of starving, 
while the orator, instead of mending soles and 
heel-pieces, or vending small wares, is disgorg- 
ing nonsense on an audience of fools, who 
must be even more foolish than himself if they 
are able to listen to him with patience. 

To all writers and orators who might be 
much more usefully and honourably employed 
at the anvil or the loom, in the shop or the 
counting-house, I will recommend the consid- 
eration of how many requisites are necessary 
to form a distinguished writer and a good ora- 
tor. — No man can communicate what is valua- 
ble to others, unless he has himself previously 
accumulated a plentiful store. A liberal edu- 
cation, and much reading and reflection, super- 
added to a competent share of natural ability, 
can alone enable a writer to produce what may 
deserve the attention of a polished age. More 
leisure than can fall to the lot of those who 
live by mercantile or manual industry is neces- 
sary to attain an eminence in literature. And 
with respect to the oratory which some of the 
lower orders are so fond of affecting, it is usu- 
ally a habit of vain and noisy babbling, little 
dissimilar to the ravings of madness, and not 
unfrequently leading to it. I have myself seen 
the dreadful effects of methodistical enthusi- 
asm. Many an honest tailor or shoemaker has 
turned preacher, and hurried himself, and some 



238 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

of his hearers, into absolute lunacy. And even 
that kind of speechifying which some persons 
in the mercantile walks of life are so fond of 
displaying in clubs and committees, often tends 
to no other purpose but to waste time and 
fill the speaker with a self-conceit, which 
sometimes terminates in his ruin, by giving 
his ambition a wrong direction. I am well as- 
sured, that a misplaced attention to letters, and 
a foolish vanity in scribbling in newspapers and 
periodical repositories, have contributed greatly 
to increase the number of advertisements in 
the London Gazette. 

Nothing can be more laudable than that 
merchants, traders, and mechanics, should fill 
up their intervals of leisure in reading books 
adapted to their various tastes, abilities, and 
previous improvements. But they must be 
cautious lest the charms of literary pursuits 
operate upon them in such a manner as to 
bring on that fatal distemper, the scribbling 
itch, or the rage of oratory. The manuscripts 
which they should delight in composing should 
be day-books, ledgers, bills, and letters to cor- 
respondents; and their rhetoric should chiefly 
be displayed behind the counter. The more of 
these the better; but when arithmetical figures 
give place to rhymes, and posting to prosing, 
then it is time to beware of a commission of 
bankruptcy. 

The evil which I endeavour to remove is 
really a serious one. The poor scribbler or 
prater may be a very honest and good man; 



' 



ADHERENCE TO OUR VOCATION. 239 

but his weakness, in this respect, will probably 
involve him in miseries which weakness alone 
cannot deserve. His ill-success as an author, 
followed as it will be by slights, ridicule, and 
censure, must be to him a perpetual source of 
vexation. Thus his favourite pursuit terminates 
in disappointment, and his necessary pursuit, 
his trade or employment, on which he depends 
for bread, fails to. supply his wants, because it 
is neglected. 

It is one of the best ornaments, as well as 
the surest means of success and happiness, in 
all the branches of the mercantile life, to be 
steady in an attention to what is called the 
main-chance. Letters may form the amuse- 
ment of the trader, but not his business. Let- 
ters, however, will soon be the business of his 
life, if he devotes himself to composition, and 
learns to pant for literary fame. Letters, pur- 
sued within proper limits, will give his mind 
an elegance, and prevent it from being con- 
tracted by a constant attention to lucre ; but 
cultivated with the ardour and constancy of a 
professed student, or author, or orator, they sel- 
dom fail of bringing on a complication of dis- 
tress, to which their satisfactions cannot be a 
counterpoise. It would not be a bad rule if 
merchants, shopkeepers, and manufacturers, 
who feel an inclination to poetry and other lit- 
erary amusements were always to make a point 
of providing for their wives and daughters be- 
fore they think of devoting themselves entirely 
to those fantastic and extravagant mistresses, 
Thalia, Melpomene, and their seven sisters. 



240 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ON FORMING CONNEXIONS WITHOUT FRIEND- 
SHIP. 

One can never sufficiently admire the liberal 
spirit of the great philosopher and orator of 
Rome, who, in his fine Treatise on Friendship, 
has exploded the idea, that the prospect of ad- 
vantage is the foundation of this virtuous 
union ; and asserted, that it owes its origin to a 
conviction of mutual excellence in morals and 
disposition. 

This generous opinion appears still greater 
and more amiable when it is contrasted with 
the precepts and the practices of later ages, 
and particularly of the present. It is now one 
of the first admonitions given to a young man, 
who is entering on the career of life, that he 
must, at all events, make connexions. And in- 
stead of informing him that he is to be directed 
in his choice of them by the appearance of 
moral and mental excellence, according to the 
sublime ideas of the noble Roman, his saga- 
cious monitors suggest to him, that he is to 
be solely guided by the prospect of his interest 
and advancement in the road of avarice and 
ambition. Let a poor man of approved charac- 
ter, learning, and genius, and a rich man of 
fashion, with no pretensions to either, be intro- 
duced to a sensible and prudent youth, initiated 
in what is called the knowledge of the world, 
and you will see that, while the rich man is 
viewed with submission, complacence, and 



CONNEXIONS WITHOUT FRIENDSHIP. 241 

treated with almost idolatrous attention, the 
poor man stands by unnoticed, and probably- 
despised. On the slight acquaintance of a first 
introduction, the young proficient in worldly 
wisdom will not fail to call at the rich man's 
house, and leave a card with most respectful 
compliments; he would not come into the 
neighbourhood without paying that respect on 
any account whatever : he is not half so scru- 
pulous about going to church, and paying his 
court to his Maker ; but at the very time while 
he is bowing at the threshold of the rich man, 
the philosopher shall pass by, and because he 
possesses only a competency without superflui- 
ty, and without influence, he shall not be ho- 
noured with the common civility of a salutation. 
For it is a maxim with mere worldly minds, 
that, as it is an honour to know and be known 
to persons of fortune and title, so it is a dis- 
grace to acknowledge the slightest acquaint- 
ance with those who have nothing to re- 
commend them but honour, spirit, learning, 
and virtue. 

The formation of connexions is considered 
as so important, that it becomes, in effect, the 
principal object in the mean Chesterfieldian 
system of education. The boy whose parents 
are professed people of the world, would not, 
on any account, fail to place him at a school to 
which the sons of the nobility are often sent ; 
though they are ready to confess, that little 
learning and great profligacy are the usual ac- 
16 



242 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

quisitions in it. If the boy has grown intimate 
with the son of a rich man, his parents are 
better pleased with him than if he had learned 
by heart all Horace, Virgil, and Homer. There 
is no submission so unmanly, and no attention 
so servile, but he is ready to pay them with 
alacrity, in accomplishing the important object 
of forming connexions. The mind is rendered, 
by these means, low and abject; and though 
the boy may afterwards rise to the honour of 
being a nobleman's chaplain, or his travelling 
companion, yet he will retain, through life, 
and after he is promoted to the highest sta- 
tions by his patron, the sentiments and spirit 
of his lordship's footman or valet-de-chambre. 

A man unacquainted with the world might 
suppose, that the readiest road to preferment, 
in several of the professions, is to acquire the 
knowledge and accomplishments which are 
necessary to a skilful practice of them. But 
this is really not the case. The surest and 
most compendious method pointed out by the 
wise men of this world is to form connexions. 
Accordingly we observe many persons in the 
professions, who aim at distinction and advance- 
ment, by no means confining themselves to 
their libraries, or growing pale over their pro- 
fessional pursuits, but studying the graces of 
dress and address, and the arts of simulation 
and dissimulation. We see them frequenting 
all public places, giving and receiving invita- 
tions to dinners and suppers, and evidently 



CONNEXIONS WITHOUT FRIENDSHIP. 243 

spending so much time in dissipation, as to 
leave scarcely an hour in a day for reading and 
study. 

But would you forbid a young man the for- 
mation of connexions, by which so many have 
availed themselves, and risen to real and de- 
served grandeur'? By no means; I would 
only teach him to preserve a just reverence 
for himself, and to despise all riches and all 
honours which must be purchased at the ex- 
pense of truth, virtue, and manly spirit. I 
would, like others, advise every young man 
(and it is chiefly to the young that I presume 
to suggest admonitions) to form connexions, or 
rather friendships; but to be guided in his 
choice of them by personal merit and approved 
character. I do not say, for it would be unnatu- 
ral and unwise, that he should neglect interest, 
or despise advancement, when it can be pro- 
cured consistently with the spirit and integrity 
of an honest and delicate mind. If preferment 
comes unlooked for, and unsought by servile 
compliance, it is an honour as well as an ad- 
vantage, and is doubly welcome. But if I must 
sacrifice my reason and my conscience, my 
honour and my freedom, in forming connexions 
and pursuing preferment, I relinquish the chase, 
and eagerly retire to competency, contentment, 
and liberty. 



244 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 



MORAL MAXIMS AND REFLECTIONS— TO BE 
OBSERVED. 

Temperance preserves the soul unclouded, 
and the body in health. It is one of the chief 
auxiliaries to independence and fortune, and 
the true guide to old age. 

Non esse emacem est vectigal, cannot be too 
often repeated to the young and unexperienced. 
Some are continually squandering away their 
money, for what they do not want. Dress, 
frippery, pleasures without taste, and society 
without friendship, absorb more than would be 
sufficient to enjoy every rational delight, and 
at the same time to allow beneficence to the 
poor. 

To husband well a small income is the best 
proof of good sense, good morals, and attention 
to duty. A man who has but little, and yet 
makes that little do, can neither be a drunkard 
nor a gambler, nor fond of indulging in vicious 
or expensive pleasures. 

" I like society, but I detest company" — said 
a certain person; and his taste was right. 
Without the charms of society, and an unre- 
served intercourse with those whom we can 
love or esteem, life is a melancholy blank ; but 
a confused mixture of people, or company, as it 
is generally called, who have no common tie 
of union, no joint interest or pleasure, in their 
association, presents to a wise man more to dis- 
gust than to charm. 



MORAL MAXIMS. 245 

Be^ cautious in forming friendships, but when 
once you have fixed with prudence, let not the 
tongue of malevolence or of guile separate you 
from such as are worthy of esteem. The more 
intimate you are with any person, the more 
likely it is that you should be well acquainted 
with ail his virtues and all his weaknesses. 
How absurd, then, to be influenced in your 
opinion by those who, perhaps, scarcely know 
him ! 

Next to moral goodness, study the happy art 
of making yourself agreeable to others, by 
affability and pleasing manners. They who 
neglect paying that complaisance which they 
owe to others, will be sure to be neglected in 
their turn. Civility, in the first instance, is 
like putting out so much principal, which will 
duly be repaid with interest. 

There are persons of such an unamiable 
temper, so totally divested of all that can do 
honour to humanity, that it is no more possible 
to love them than to cherish a rattle-snake ; 
yet they never fail to resent the slightest ap- 
pearance of indifference, though their conduct 
might even justify aversion. It might be sup- 
posed no one would be proud of such an un- 
lovely disposition, — their own curse and that of 
all their connexions ; but there is a pride in 
baseness, as well as a pride in worth. 

There is a manifest distinction between good- 
nature and good-humour, though they are fre- 
quently confounded. The one is born with us ; 
the other is the effect of education or reflec- 



246 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

tion, and may be acquired. Good-nature fre- 
quently savours of folly ; but good-humour is 
founded on principle, and will always be con- 
sistent. 

Aim at perfection yourself, but expect not to 
find it in others ; and let no slight defects or 
casual misunderstandings estrange you from 
your relatives and friends. 

Be good, be virtuous for your own sake, 
without depending too much on any temporal 
recompense. An equal retribution, according 
to our deserts, belongs to another state, and is 
only to be found beyond the grave. 

In every thing regard the end. Before pas- 
sion has gained an ascendancy, bring its sug- 
gestions to the test of reason. Let no fleeting 
pleasure seduce you into imprudence; no tem- 
porary good lead you from a permanent one ; 
nor any difficulty deter you, when convinced 
that it is your duty to persevere. 



MAXIMS AND PRACTICES OF THE WORLD— TO 
BE SHUNNED. 

Let the amassing of money be your only 
study ; and to this sacrifice the feelings of the 
heart, the ties of nature, and the laws of hon- 
our. 

Never notice a poor person, whatever merit 
he may possess; nor neglect to show respect to 
a rich one, though he may have as many vices 
as the hairs of his head. 



PRACTICES OF THE WORLD. 247 

When you see a worthy man run down, take 
a pelt at him with the rest, instead of defend- 
ing or protecting him. If he is unfortunate, 
he cannot turn again ; and it will show you 
possess spirit as well as your neighbours. 

If you know a secret, keep it till it will an- 
swer your purpose to divulge it, and no longer. 
Every thing should be turned to interest ; and 
honour and friendship are merely names. 

If you suspect any of your friends of foibles, 
accuse them loudly of crimes ; for it is the mod- 
ern way of reformation. Think and speak as ill 
as possible of every one, save yourself ; and if 
they are not bad already, you are likely to have 
the satisfaction of making them so, when you 
deprive them of reputation. 

It may suit you to be frugal and virtuous in 
reality, but not to appear so. Affect the rake 
and the spendthrift, in order to gain credit with 
the worthless. 

Though it may be inconvenient and disagree- 
able to be quite ignorant, never study to be 
learned. Half the world will call you pedan- 
tic, if you never break Priscian's head; and 
the other half will spite you, for your superior 
knowledge. 

If you receive good advice, never follow it, 
for it savours of arrogance to direct you ; and 
it shows spirit to act as you think proper your- 
self. 

It is better to beg your bread than to submit, 
in the slightest degree, to those who have a 
right and the ability to advise you. — Obstinacy 



248 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

is a glorious character. When you suffer for 
it, think yourself a martyr. 

Believe those only who flatter you, and study 
to mislead you ; a real friend is often a dis- 
agreeable monitor. He will not- favour your 
prejudices, nor praise you when you are injur- 
ing yourself, which you have an undoubted 
right to do. 

Make yourself as odious as you can, to those 
who will not humour you in every thing. Af- 
fection may be forced by resistance ; and you 
will become loved, in proportion as you deserve 
to be hated. 

If you know any more respected than your- 
self, never try to imitate the good qualities 
which gain them good-will and esteem ; but 
exert yourself to blacken their reputation, and 
to make them appear as unamiable as yourself. 

If you cannot have every thing just to youi 
wish, even if you should not deserve the com- 
forts you may command, be quite miserable; 
and throw the blame on your friends and con- 
nexions, not on your own temper and conduct. 

Let your own reason be the standard of 
right, and alone direct you what to do, or to 
leave undone. Who should know better than 
yourself what is prudent and expedient 1 — Be- 
sides, when you please yourself, you have no 
one to blame, whatever may happen — a conso- 
lation of the highest importance to secure. 

Be reserved to your friends, and confidential 
only with your enemies. Make a mystery of 
every thing to fret and torment those who wish 



SIMPLE PLEASURES. 249 

you well: and if you can make one feeling and 
honest heart unhappy, think you have not lived 
or acted in vain. 

By following- these maxims and practices, 
you have the glory of being detested by every 
good and virtuous mind ; and perhaps the noto- 
riety of infamy is dearer in your estimation, 
than the silent consciousness of desert ! 



ON FORMING A TASTE FOR SIMPLE PLEA- 
SURES. 

To argue against pleasure in general is ab- 
surd. It is the law of nature, that every ani- 
mal should prefer the agreeable sensations 
to the disagreeable. But it is incumbent on 
the moralist to explode those pleasures, which, 
though they are transient and unsatisfactory in 
themselves, are yet found ultimately to occa- 
sion permanent pain and real injury. 

Perhaps the most effectual mode of accom- 
plishing this purpose, is not to arraign pleasure 
in general, but to substitute other pleasures in 
the place of those which are hurtful. Man 
must be amused and delighted ; and pernicious 
amusements and poisoned delights will be pur- 
sued, if others cease to be obvious. 

It is certain that nature has interspersed a 
great number of objects capable of affording 
the liveliest delight, without danger of future 
pain, and even with the probability of deriving 
improvement and additional pleasure by reflect- 






250 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ing on the past enjoyment. Such, indeed, are 
those innocent pleasures which we follow in 
early youth with cheerful ardour, and which 
we enjoy with sincere delight, before we are 
vitiated and hardened by a long intercourse 
with a depraved world ; before the qualities of 
the lamb and dove are exchanged for the less 
amiable wisdom of the wolf and the serpent. 

Amidst all the improvements which we make 
in a state of high civilization, we lose some 
natural tastes and propensities which were fa- 
vourable to virtue. We acquire wants and 
notions which disturb our repose, and cause a 
feverish anxiety, ever thirsting, and never satis- 
fied. 

The simple and innocent satisfactions of 
nature are usually withm our reach ; and as 
they excite no violent perturbation in the pur- 
suit, so are they enjoyed without tumult, and 
relinquished without long or painful regret. It 
will, then, render essential service both to hap- 
piness and morality, if we can persuade men in 
general to taste and to contract an habitual re- 
lish for the genuine satisfactions of uncorrupted 
nature. 

One of the first affections which the heart 
perceives, is filial piety. As years increase, 
this affection dilates, and extends itself to bro- 
thers and sisters, relatives and domestics. The 
child loves and is beloved by all around him. 
Amidst the conversation, the events, the en- 
dearments, and tender duties of a family, he 
finds full play for all his faculties and propensi- 



SIMPLE PLEASURES. 251 

ties, and is often, by his own subsequent confes- 
sion, happier at this early age than in any 
period which succeeds it. 

I say then, that, were a taste for this simple 
pleasure retained, were men at a mature age 
led to seek their happiness in domestic life, and 
in the exercise of the mild virtues of family 
offices, their enjoyments, though less brilliant 
and noisy, would be purer and more substan- 
tial. But, on the contrary, we see them no 
sooner arrived at maturity, than they eagerly 
leave the nest, and wander, in search of an un- 
tried and an imaginary bliss, through all the 
wilds of dissipation. In the precipitate pursuit, 
innocence is often lost; and whatever progress 
is made in refinement, little is added to solid 
happiness. Our interest, as we falsely call it, 
and our honour, become the idols whom we de- 
voutly worship, and on whose altars we sacri- 
fice health, truth, peace, and liberty. 

We are, indeed, so deeply engaged in our 
objects, that we cannot advert to the beauties 
of nature, those fertile sources of unadulterated 
pleasure. The young mind is always delight- 
ed with rural scenery. The earliest poetry was 
pastoral, and every juvenile poet of the present 
day delights to indulge in the luxuriance of a 
rural description. A taste for these pleasures 
will render the morning walk at least as de- 
lightful as the evening assembly. The various 
forms which Nature assumes in the vicissitudes 
of the seasons, constitute a source of compla- 
cency which can never he exhausted. How 



252 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

grateful to the senses the freshness of the 
herbage, the fragrancy of the flowers, and all 
those simple delights of the field, which the 
poets have, from the earliest ages, no less justly 
than exuberantly described ! " It is all mere 
fiction," exclaims the man of the world, " the 
painting of a visionary enthusiast." He feels 
not, he cannot feel, their truth. He sees no 
charms in herbs and blossoms ; the melody of 
the grove is no music to his ear ; and this hap- 
pens, because he has lost, by his own fault, those 
tender sensibilities which nature had bestowed. 
They are still daily perceived in all their per- 
fection by the ingenuous and innocent, and they 
have been most truly described by feeling poets, 
as contributing to pure, real, and exalted de- 
light. 

Yet the possessor of extensive lands, if he is a 
man of fashion and spirit, forsakes the sweet 
scenes of rural nature, and shuts himself up in a 
coffee-house, at a gaming-table, in a fetid as- 
sembly; and leaves that liberal air which breathes 
over his lawns, and agitates his forests, to be 
inhaled by his menial rustics. He perverts the 
designs of nature, and despises the hereditary 
blessings of Providence ; and he receives the 
adequate punishment in a restless life, perpetu- 
ally seeking and never finding satisfaction. But 
the employments of agriculture, independently 
of their profit, are most congenial and pleasing 
to human nature. An uncorrupted mind sees, 
in the progress of vegetation, and in the man- 
ners and excellencies of those animals which 



SIMPLE PLEASURES. 253 

are destined to our immediate service, such 
charms and beauties as art can seldom produce. 
Husbandry may be superintended by an ele- 
gant mind ; nor is it by any means necessary 
that they who engage in it should contract 
a coarseness of manners or a vulgarity of 
sentiment. It is most favourable to health, 
to plenty, to repose, and to innocence ; and 
great, indeed, must be the objects which justi- 
fy a reasonable creature in relinquishing these. 
Are plays, and balls, and nocturnal assemblies 
of whatever denomination, are debaucheries in 
all their modifications, which tend to rob us of 
sleep, to lessen our patrimony, to injure our 
health, to render us selfish, vicious, thoughtless, 
and useless, equivalent to these 1 Reason re- 
plies in the negative ; yet the almost universal 
departure from innocence and simplicity will 
leave the affirmative established by a corrupt 
majority. 

It is not without a sigh that a thinking man 
can pass by a lordly mansion, some sweet re- 
treat, deserted by its falsely-refined possessor, 
who is stupidly carousing in the taverns of a 
polluted city. When he sees the chimney with- 
out smoke in the venerable house, where all 
the country was once welcomed to partake of 
princely hospitality, he cannot help lamenting 
that progress of refinement, which, in render- 
ing the descendants of the great fine gentle- 
men, has left them something less than men, 
through the defect of manly virtues. 

The superintendence of a garden might of it- 



254 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

self occupy a life elegantly and pleasurably. 
Nothing is better able to gratify the inherent 
love of novelty ; for Nature is always renewing 
her variegated appearance. She is infinite in 
her productions, and the life of man may come 
to its close before he has seen half the pictures 
which she is able to display. The taste for 
gardening in our country is at present pure. 
Nature is restored to her throne, and reigns 
majestically beautiful in rude magnificence. 
The country abounds with cultivated tracts 
truly paradisiacal. But as the contemplative 
observer roams over the lawn, and enjoys the 
shade of the weeping willow, he is often led to 
inquire, " Where is now the owner of this wil- 
derness of sweets ? Happy man !" he exclaims, 
" to possess such a spot as this, and to be able 
at all times to taste the pleasure which I feel 
springing in my bosom." But, alas ! the owner 
is engaged in other scenes. He is rattling over 
the streets of the metropolis, and pursuing all 
the sophisticated joys which succeed to supply 
the place where Nature is relinquished. If he 
condescends to pay an annual visit to the re- 
treat, he brings with him all his acquired incli- 
nations ; and while he sits at the card-table or 
at the banquet, and thinks of little else than 
promoting his interest at the next election, he 
leaves the shrub to blossom and the rose to dif- 
fuse its sweets in unobserved solitude. 

Can it be believed that nature bestowed 
beauty on the foliage of a flower but with a 
view to please ? The fruit might be produced, 



SIMPLE PLEASURES. 255 

in the same process, without any richness and 
diversity of colour. No other animals are sen- 
sible of their grace but the human ; and yet the 
austere man of business, or the vain man of 
pleasure, will arraign another with a face of 
importance for his admiration of a flower. He 
calls the taste trifling and useless. But is not 
a refusal to be pleased with such appearances 
like the malignant unthankfulness of a sullen 
guest who refuses to taste the most delicious 
dainties prepared for his entertainment] 

Fine weather is the source of a very sensible 
pleasure ; but he who is engrossed by vice or 
by business will live half a life without admi- 
ring the beauties of a blue sky, basking in the 
vernal sunshine, or inhaling,witn any conscious- 
ness of delight, the balsam of a western gale. 

A fondness for the pleasing animals which 
Nature has placed around us is another source 
of natural, and pure, and innocent amusement. 
The plumage and song of the bird were, doubt- 
less, intended to delight the ear and the eye. 
Who can behold the playful lamb without com- 
placency 7 The fidelity of the dog, the generos- 
ity of the horse, and the characteristic quali- 
ties, as well as shape and beauty, of all anima- 
ted nature, are admirably adapted to charm the 
heart which is yet unspoiled. 

But in a proper intercourse and behaviour 
among our fellow-creatures is found to consist 
our principal and most constant delight. To do 
good, and to prevent evil, as far as the sphere of 
our influence or activity extends, is an infalli- 



256 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

ble method of deriving to ourselves pleasurable 
emotions. And if we consult what passes in 
our bosoms before our youthful sensibilities are 
blunted, we shall find that Nature has taught 
us to feel the sweetest pleasure in relieving dis- 
tress, and in communicating happiness. 

The cunning and the crafty, of whom con- 
sists a great part of the busy crowd, who de- 
rive an unnatural influence from the possession 
of riches, will deem the simplicity which I have 
recommended folly. Such men will deem truth 
also folly. They consider virtue and truth as 
words invented to delude the simple ones ; but, 
indeed, to retain through life something of the 
simplicity of the infant, will render the improv- 
ed and cultivated man truly wise. For, after 
all the refinements of false philosophy, and the 
lower arts of worldly cunning, honesty is our 
truest interest, and innocence our best wis- 
dom. 



A CULTIVATED MIND NECESSARY TO RENDER 
RETIRExVIENT AGREEABLE. 

Few are able to bear solitude ; and, though 
retirement is the ostensible object of the great- 
er part, yet, wmen they are enabled by success 
to retire, they feel themselves unhappy. Pecu- 
liar powers and elegance of mind are necessa- 
ry to enable us to draw all our resources from 
ourselves. In a remote and solitary village the 
mind must be internally active in a great de- 
gree, or it will be miserable for want of em- 



A CULTIVATED MIND. 257 

ployment. But in great and populous cities, 
even while it is passive, it will be constantly 
amused. It is impossible to walk the streets 
without finding- the attention powerfully solicit- 
ed on every side. Exertion is scarcely neces- 
sary. Objects pour themselves into the senses, 
and it would be difficult to prevent their admit- 
tance. But, in retirement, there must be a 
spirit of philosophy and a store of learning", or 
else the fancied scenes of bliss will vanish like 
the colours of the rainbow. 

Poor Cowley might be said to be melancho- 
ly mad. He languished for solitude, and wish- 
ed to hide himself in the wilds of Africa. But, 
alas ! he was not able to support the solitude of 
a country village within a few miles of the me- 
tropolis ! 

I lately paid a visit to a friend, who has with- 
drawn from the hurry of business to enjoy the 
sweets of a rural retirement in the country. 
His house is situated on an eminence, which 
commands a beautiful prospect. At the bottom 
of his garden, which is laid out in a taste pecu- 
liar to himself, yet entirely conformable to na- 
ture, ,runs a small river, remarkable for the 
smoothness of its surface, and the clearness of 
its water ; but, though the house is perfectly 
agreeable in situation, some have thought that 
the freshness of the air, the beauty of the scene- 
ry, and the silence of retirement, can by no 
means compensate the want of a neighbour- 
hood : for, to say the truth, there is not a single 
house to be seen within a mile of the little soli- 
17 



258 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

tary villa, except one poor cottage inhabited by 
the gardener. 

Though I was at first, like the rest, much 
disposed to disapprove the solitude of my friend's 
habitation, yet, when I had resided with him a 
little while, and had enjoyed the calm and ra- 
tional pleasure of philosophic ease, I became 
enthusiastically fond of sequestered life. It 
must, indeed, be confessed, that Hilario pos- 
sesses some peculiar qualities which seem 
calculated to render solitude agreeable. He 
has a natural sweetness of temper, a refined 
taste for literature and music, and, at the same 
time, some relish for the common diversions 
of the country. But, though he spends the 
greater part of his leisure hours in the alternate 
amusements of his books, his harpsichord, his 
dogs, and his horses, yet he is never so happy 
as in the enjoyments of the conversation of a 
friend whose manners and sentiments are con- 
genial with his own. 

It must not be forgotten, that he derives 
much of his pleasure from a knowledge of bot- 
any and natural philosophy, which he acquired 
in the former part of his life. His acquaint- 
ance with these sciences enables him to make 
great improvements in the cultivation of his 
garden, where almost every plant which is cu- 
rious, useful, or beautiful, is brought to its high- 
est perfection. 

It might, perhaps, be supposed, from the se- 
clusion of his life, that he is utterly unacquaint- 
ed with the living world. He takes care, how- 



A CULTIVATED MIND. 259 

ever, to inform himself of the topic of the day, 
by attending to periodical publications of repute 
and authenticity ; and he is allowed to make 
most pertinent observations on the taste, man- 
ners, and politics of the present times. His re- 
marks have always this peculiar excellence, 
derived, perhaps, from his distance from par- 
ties, that they savour of that liberal spirit which 
marks the true gentleman, and the citizen of 
the world. 

The great evil of solitude is, that reason be- 
comes weak for want of exercise, while the 
powers of imagination are invigorated by indul- 
gence. Fanaticism and bigotry, melancholy 
and despair, have usually been produced in the 
cave and the convent. Happy in a mind fur- 
nished with ideas of every kind, Hilario is 
never at a loss for occasions to exert the pow- 
ers of his reason ; and can at all times divert 
his imagination from the horrors of the spleen, 
by the pleasing employments of literary pur- 
suits. 

The avocations of an active life shortened a 
visit which I would gladly have protracted. I 
return to the engagements of the world, sup- 
ported by the soothing expectation that a time 
will come, when I shall be able to spend the 
evening of life in a sweet retreat, like that of 
Hilario. 

With a virtuous and cheerful family, with a 
few faithful and good-humoured friends, with a 
well-chosen collection of elegant books, and 



260 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

with a competency, one may enjoy comforts 
even in the deserted village, which the city, 
with all its diversions, cannot supply. 



ON AN EXCESSIVE AND INDISCRIMINATE LOVE 
OF COMPANY, AND AN ABHORRENCE OF OC- 
CASIONAL SOLITUDE. 

There are few conditions less desirable than 
that of the man who has no resources in him- 
self, and who is totally dependent on others for 
his daily amusement. Yet there are great num- 
bers who consider solitude as synonymous with 
misery, and who are ready to associate with any 
company, rather than be left alone. This weak- 
ness, for a great weakness it is, renders the 
mind base and mean enough to submit to any 
neglect, coolness, or contempt, in order to be 
admitted into a party, or not to be excluded 
from a dinner. It is the cause and the conse- 
quence of a feverish and restless state, totally 
inconsistent with solid comfort and rational en- 
joyment. 

The love of company and of social pleasures 
is, indeed, natural, and attended with some of 
the sweetest satisfactions of human life ; but, 
like every other love, when it proceeds beyond 
the limits of moderation, it ceases to produce 
its natural effect, and terminates in disgustful 
satiety. The foundation-stone and the pillar 
on which we build the fabric of our felicity 
must be laid in our hearts. Amusement, mirth, 
agreeable variety, and even improvement, may 



EXCESSIVE LOVE OF COMPANY. 261 

be sometimes sought in the gaiety of mixed 
company, and in the usual diversions of the 
world ; but, if we place our whole happiness 
on these, we shall do little more than raise cas- 
tles in the air, or build houses on the sand. 

To derive the proper pleasure and improve- 
ment from company, it ought to be select, and 
to consist of persons of character, respectable 
both from their morals and their understand- 
ings. Mixed and undistinguished society tends 
only to dissipate our ideas, and induce a laxity 
of principles and practice. The pleasure it af- 
fords is coarse and vulgar. Indeed, it common- 
ly ends in weariness and disgust, as even they 
are ready to confess who yet constantly pursue 
it as if their chief good consisted in living in a 
crowd, amidst noise without mirth, and feasting 
without friendship. 

Among those, indeed, who are exempted by 
their circumstances from professional and offi- 
cial employments, and who professedly devote 
themselves to a life of pleasure, little else seems 
to constitute the idea of it, but an unceasing 
succession of company, public orprivate. The 
dress, and other circumstances preparatory to 
the enjoyment of this pleasure, scarcely leave 
a moment for reflection. Day after day is spent 
in the same toilsome round, till a habit is form- 
ed which renders dissipation necessary to ex- 
istence. One week without it would probably 
induce a lowness of spirits, which might termi- 
nate in despair and suicide. When the mind 
has no anchor, it will suffer a kind of ship- 



262 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

wreck ; it will be dashed on rocks, or sunk in 
whirlpools. What, indeed, is life or its en- 
joyments, without settled principles, laudable 
purposes, mental exertions, and internal com- 
fort] It is merely a vapour, or a state of tor- 
ment, since it possesses a restless power of ac- 
tion, productive of little else but weariness and 
vexation. 

I very seriously recommend, therefore, to all 
who wish to enjoy their existence, (and who 
entertains not that wish]) that they should ac- 
quire not only a power of bearing, but of taking" 
a pleasure in temporary solitude. Every one 
must, indeed, sometimes be alone. Let him 
not repine when he is alone, but learn to set a 
value on the golden moments. It is then that 
he is enabled to study himself and the world 
around him. It is then that he has an oppor- 
tunity of seeing things as they are, and of re- 
moving the deceitful veil, which almost every 
thing assumes in the busy scene of worldly em- 
ployments. The soul in solitude is enabled to 
retire into herself, and to exert those energies 
which are always attended with sublime plea- 
sure. She is enabled to see the dependent, frail, 
and wretched state of man, as the child of na- 
ture ; and incited by her discovery to implore 
grace and protection from the Lord of the uni- 
verse. They, indeed, who constantly fly from 
solitude, can seldom be religious ; for religion 
requires meditation. They may be said to live 
without God in the world ; not, it is true, from 
atheistical principles, but from a carelessness 



EXCESSIVE LOVE OF COMPANY. 268 

of disposition ; a truly deplorable state, the con- 
sciousness of which could not fail to cloud the 
gaiety of those halcyon beings who sport in the 
sun-shine of what they deem unremitted plea- 
sure. 

I may, I believe, assert, that the love of 
pleasure, the follies of fashion, and the extrava- 
gances of dissipation, are greater enemies to re- 
ligion than all the writers who have endeavour- 
ed to attract notice by questioning the truth of 
Christianity. Many, it is to be feared, have 
lived and died in the regions of gaiety, without 
ever having felt a sense of religion. Prayers, 
sermons, churches, the clergy, and the Gospel, 
the external instruments of piety, were things 
which never struck them, and from which they 
received no more impression than a blind man 
from the exhibition of a pageant To feel the 
fine sensibilities of devotion, it is necessary to 
commune with our own hearts, upon our beds, 
and to be still. If we had but courage to with- 
draw ourselves from the world, we should often 
find in our study, and on our knees, such plea- 
sures as the world cannot give. 

I may also add, that few will be found to dis- 
play prudence or consistency of conduct who do 
not sometimes step aside from the tumult of the 
throng, to consider coolly their circumstances 
and situation. Life cannot proceed fortuitous- 
ly without incurring momentary danger. Plans 
of conduct must be formed, precautions taken, 
errors retrieved, and the probabilities of futurity 



264 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

considered. But all this requires thought, and 
thought retirement. 

Not only religion, virtue, and prudence, will 
be promoted by occasional solitude, but a relish 
will be given to the rational enjoyments of a 
pleasurable life. Vicissitude is essential to 
every state of durable gratification. He who 
has spent a little part of his time in his closet, 
or his groves, will partake of the gaieties of the 
assembly with fresh delight; as a man, when 
he is hungry, finds an additional flavour in his 
daily food. 

But it must be remembered, that, in recom- 
mending solitude, I mean only occasional soli- 
tude. There is no doubt but that man is made 
for action, and that his duties and pleasures are 
often most numerous and most important amidst 
the busy hum of men. Many vices, and many 
corrupt dispositions, have been fostered in a sol- 
itary life. Monkery is not favourable to human 
nature nor to human happiness ; neither is un- 
limited dissipation. But cautions and remedies 
must always be applied where the greatest 
danger appears. And I think it will admit no 
dispute, but that, in this age and nation, men 
are much more likely to be injured by too con- 
stant an intercourse with the world, than by too 
much retirement and seclusion. 

But nothing without moderation is durable or 
wise. Therefore, let there be a sweet inter- 
change of solitude and association, of repose and 
activity. A few hours spent every day by the 
votaries of pleasure in serious meditation, would 



THE PLEASURES OF A GARDEN. 265 

render their pleasure pure, and more unmixed 
with misery. It would give them knowledge, 
so that they would see how far they might ad- 
vance in their pursuit without danger ; and res- 
olution, so that they might retreat when dan- 
ger approached. It would teach them how to 
live ; a knowledge which, indeed, they think 
they possess already ; and it would also teach 
them, what they are often too little solicitous 
to learn, — how to die. 



THE PLEASURES OF A GARDEN. 

Not he alone is to be esteemed a benefactor 
to mankind who makes an useful discovery, but 
he also who can point out and effectually re- 
commend an innocent and obvious pleasure. Of 
this kind are all the pleasures arising from the 
observation of nature, and they are highly agree- 
able to every taste uncorrupted by vicious in- 
dulgence. 

There will always be many in a rich and 
civilized country, who, as they are born to the 
enjoyment of competent estates, engage not in 
business, either civil or professional. But the 
restless mind must either find or make an ob- 
ject. Pleasure, therefore, becomes to the un- 
employed a serious pursuit. Whatever is its 
essence, and whatever the declaimer may urge 
against it, pleasure will be sought by all who 
possess the liberty of election. It becomes, 
then, incumbent on the moralist, not only to 



266 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

urge the performance of duty, but to recom- 
mend objects that please without enervating 
the mind, and gratify desire without corrupting 
the principles. 

Rural scenes, of almost every kind, are de- 
lightful to the mind of man. The verdant plain, 
the flowery mead, the meandering stream, the 
playful lamb, the warbling of birds, are all ca- 
pable of exciting emotions gently agreeable. 
Bat the misfortune is, that the greater part are 
hurried on in the career of life with too great 
rapidity to be able to give attention to that 
which solicits no passion. The darkest habita- 
tion in the dirtiest street of the metropolis, 
where money can be earned, has greater 
charms, with many, than the groves of Hagley. 

Yet the patron of refined pleasure, the ele- 
gant Epicurus, fixed the seat of his enjoyment 
in a garden. He was of opinion, that a tran- 
quil spot, furnished with the united sweets of 
art and nature, was the best adapted to delicate 
repose. And even the severer philosophers of 
antiquity were wont to discourse with peculiar 
delight in the shade of a spreading tree in some 
cultivated plantation. 

It is obvious, on intuition, that nature often 
intended solely to please the eye in her vege- 
table productions. She decorates the floweret 
that springs beneath our feet in all the perfec- 
tion of external beauty. She has clothed the 
garden with a constant succession of various 
hues. Even the leaves of the tree undergo a 
pleasing vicissitude. The fresh verdure which 



PLEASURES OF A GARDEN. 267 

they exhibit in the spring, the various shades 
which they assume in summer, the yellow and 
russet tinge of autumn, and the nakedness of 
winter, afford a constant pleasure to a lively 
imagination. From the snow-drop to the moss- 
rose, the flower-garden displays an infinite va- 
riety of shape and colour. The taste of the 
florist has been ridiculed as trifling ; yet sure- 
ly without reason. Did nature bring forth the 
tulip and the lily, the rose and the honeysuckle, 
to be neglected by the haughty pretender to su- 
perior reason 1 To omit a single social duty for 
the cultivation of a polyanthus, were ridiculous 
as well as criminal ; but to pass by the beauties 
lavished before us without observing them, is 
no less ingratitude than stupidity. A bad heart 
finds little amusement but in a communication 
with the ambitious world, where scope is given 
for the indulgence of selfish passions ; but an 
amiable disposition is commonly known by a 
taste for the beauties of the animal and vegeta- 
ble creation. 

The northern countries of Europe are by no 
means well adapted to the true enjoyment of 
rural scenery. Our vernal seasons, which the 
poets celebrate in all the luxuriance of descrip- 
tion, are commonly rendered cold and uncom- 
fortable by the long continuance of an easterly 
wind. Our poets borrowed their ideas of a 
spring from the poets of Italy, who collected 
theirs from nature in their climate. A genial 
day in April is among us the subject of general 
congratulation. And while the lilac blossoms, 



268 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

and the laburnum drops its golden clusters, the 
shivering possessor of them is constrained to 
seek warmth at the side of his chimney. Yet 
from the temperature of our climate we derive 
a beauty unknown in the gardens of a warmer 
country. Few objects are more pleasing than 
the smooth lawn ; but the soft verdure which 
constitutes its beauty is not to be found in more 
southern climates. It is certainly true, that the 
rarity of our truly vernal weather, like that of 
other delights, increases the pleasure of it ; and 
it is probable, for this reason, that an English- 
man, notwithstanding his complaints against 
his atmosphere, enjoys the pleasures of a gar- 
den in their full perfection. A fine day, says 
Sir William Temple, is a kind of a sensual 
pleasure ; but surely it would cease to be such 
if every day were fine. 

A practical attention to a garden is by some 
esteemed a degrading employment. It is true, 
indeed, that pastoral and agricultural manners, 
if we may form a judgment from the dignified 
descriptions of Virgil, are greatly degenerated. 
The employments of shepherds and husband- 
men are now become mean and sordid. The 
work of the garden is usually left to a peasant. 
Nor is it unreasonable to assign the labour 
which wearies without amusement to those who 
are sufficiently amused by the prospect of their 
wages. But the operations of grafting, or in- 
oculating, of pruning, of transplanting, are cu- 
rious experiments in natural philosophy ; and 
that they are pleasing as well as curious, those 



PLEASURES OF A GARDEN. 269 

can testify who remember what they felt on 
seeing their attempts in the amusement of prac- 
tical gardening attended with success. 

Among the employments suitable to old age, 
Cicero has enumerated the superintendence of 
a garden. It requires no great exertion of mind 
or body ; and its satisfactions are of that kind 
which please without violent agitation. Its ben- 
eficial influence on health is an additional rea- 
son for an attention to it at an age when infirm- 
ities abound. 

In almost every description of the seats of 
the blessed, ideas of a garden seem to have pre- 
dominated. The word Paradise itself is syno- 
nymous with garden. The fields of Elysium, 
that sweet region of poesy, are adorned with 
ail that imagination can conceive to be delight- 
ful. Some of the most pleasing passages of 
Milton are those in which he represents the 
happy pair engaged in cultivating their blissful 
abode, the garden of Eden. Poets have always 
been delighted with the beauties of a garden. 
Lucan is represented by Juvenal as reposing in 
his garden. Virgil's Georgics prove him to have 
been captivated with rural scenes ; though, to 
the surprise of his readers, he has not assigned 
a book to the subject of a garden. Our Shen- 
stone made it his study ; but, with all his taste 
and fondness for it, he, it must be confessed, was 
not happy in it. The captivating scenes which 
he created at the Leasowes afforded him, it is 
said, little pleasure in the absence of specta- 



270 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

tors. The truth is, he made the embellishment 
of his grounds, which should have been the 
amusement of his life, the business of it ; and 
involved himself in such troubles by the expen- 
ses it occasioned, as necessarily excluded the 
tranquil enjoyment of a scene which nature and 
art had combined to render delightful. 

It is the lot of few, in comparison, to possess 
territories like his, extensive and sufficiently 
well adapted to constitute an ornamental farm. 
Still fewer are capable of supporting the ex- 
pense of preserving it in good condition. But 
let not the rich suppose they have appropriated 
the pleasures of a garden. The possessor of 
an acre, or a smaller portion, may receive a real 
pleasure from observing the progress of vegeta- 
tion, even in a plantation of culinary plants. A 
very limited tract, properly attended to, will 
furnish ample employment for an individual. 
Nor let it be thought a mean care ; for the 
same hand that raised the cedar formed the hys- 
sop on the wall. Even the orchard, cultivated 
solely for advantage, exhibits beauties unequal- 
led in the shrubbery ; nor can the green-house 
produce an appearance to exceed the blossom 
of the apple and the almond. 

Amusement reigns, says Dr. Young, man's 
great demand. Happy were it, if the amuse- 
ment of a garden were more generally relish- 
ed. It would surely be more conducive to 
health, and the preservation of our faculties to 
extreme old age, were that time which is now 



THE PLEASURES OF REFLECTION. 271 

devoted to the dice and to the card-table spent 
in the open air, and in active employment, 
amidst the beauties of cultivated nature. 



THE PLEASURES OF REFLECTION. 

That the enjoyments of the understanding" 
exceed the pleasures of sense, is a truth confess- 
ed by all who are capable of exerting the fac- 
ulties of thinking in their full vigour. But by 
these pleasures are generally understood sub- 
lime contemplations on subjects of science and 
abstruse disquisition ; contemplation which can 
only be the result of uncommon powers and ex- 
traordinary efforts. 

But there are intellectual pleasures of an- 
other kind, to the enjoyment of which neither 
great abilities nor learning are required. These 
are no other than the pleasures of reflection, 
which are open to the illiterate mechanic as 
well as to the sage philosopher, and afford to a 
good mind some of the sweetest satisfactions of 
human life. 

There are few who have not felt pleasing 
sensations arising from a retrospective view of 
the first period of their lives. To recollect the 
puerile amusements, the petty anxieties, and 
the eager pursuits of childhood, is a task in 
which all delight. It is common to observe, 
that on no subject do men dwell with such plea- 
sure as the boyish tricks and wanton pranks 
which they practised at school. The hoary head 
looks back with a smile of complacency, mixed 



272 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

with regret, on the season when health glow- 
ed on the cheek, when lively spirits warmed 
the heart, and when toil strung the nerves with 
vigour. 

Cicero has remarked, that events the most 
disagreeable during their immediate influence, 
give an exquisite satisfaction when their con- 
sequences have ceased ; and iEneas solaces his 
companions under the hardships they endured 
with the consideration, that the remembrance 
of their sufferings would one day give them 
satisfaction. That these sentiments are just, 
is well known to those who have enjoyed the 
conversation of the soldier. Battles, skirmishes, 
and sieges, at which, perhaps, he trembled du- 
ring the action, furnish him with topics of con- 
versation and sources of pleasure for the re- 
mainder of his life. 

Reflection is the properest employment, and 
the sweetest satisfaction, in a rational old age. 
Destitute of strength and vigour necessary for 
bodily exertions, and furnished with observa- 
tions by experience, the old man finds his great- 
est pleasure to consist in wandering in imagi- 
nation over past scenes of delight, in recount- 
ing the adventures of his youth, the vicissitudes 
of human life, and the public events to which 
he is proud of having been an eye-witness. Of 
so exalted a nature are these enjoyments, that 
theologists have not hesitated to assert, that to 
recollect a well-spent life is to anticipate the 
bliss of a future existence. 

The professors of philosophy, who will be ac- 



CULTIVATION OF FLOWERS. 273 

knowledged to have understood the nature of 
true and substantial pleasure better than the 
busy, the gay, and the dissipated, have ever 
shown a predilection for privacy and solitude. 
No other cause have they assigned for their 
conduct in forsaking society, than that the noise 
and hurry of the world are incompatible with 
the exertion of calm reason and dispassionate 
reflection. The apophthegm of that ancient 
who said, " he was never less alone than when 
by himself," is not to be considered merely as 
an epigrammatic turn. In vain was it to pur- 
sue philosophy in the Suburra ; she was to be 
courted with success only in the sequestered 
shade of rural retirement. 

Were the powers of reflection cultivated by 
habit, mankind would at all times be able to de- 
rive a pleasure from their own breasts as ration- 
al as it is exalted. To the attainment of this 
happiness, a strict adherence to the rules of 
virtue is necessary ; for let it be remembered, 
that none can feel the pleasures of reflection 
who do not enjoy the peace of innocence. 



TASTE FOR THE CULTIVATION OF FLOWERS, 
AND OF BEAUTIFUL SHRUBS AND TREES. 

Beauty of every kind is formed to allure ; 
and there is this peculiar advantage in contem- 
plating the beauties of vegetable nature, that 
we may permit our hearts to be captivated by 
them, without apprehension of any dangerous 
18 



274 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

or dishonourable servitude. A taste for the 
beauties of vegetation is the mark of a pure and 
innocent mind, and, at the same time, one of 
the best preservatives of purity and innocence. 
It diverts the attention from the turbulent 
scenes of folly, and superinduces a placid tran- 
quillity highly favourable to the gentle virtues, 
and to the permanency of our most refined en- 
joyments. 

I have often been surprised to find those who 
possessed a very acute susceptibility of artificial 
or literary grace, and were powerfully affected 
by the beauties of a poem, a piece of sculpture, 
or a painting, not at all more sensible of the 
charms of a tree or a floweret than a common 
and inelegant spectator. They have dwelt with 
rapture on a fine description of the Vale of 
Tempe, they have entered into all the delight 
which a Shakespeare or a Milton meant to com- 
municate in their enchanting pictures of flow- 
ery and sylvan scenes, and yet can walk 
through a wood, or tread on a bed of violets and 
primroses, without appearing to be affected with 
any peculiar pleasure. This is certainly the 
effect of a superficial judgment; for there is no 
truth of which philosophers have been longer 
convinced, than that the realities of nature in- 
finitely surpass the most perfect productions of 
imitation. 

The beauty of colour, though justly esteem- 
ed subordinate to that of shape, is yet found to 
delight the eye more immediately and more uni- 
versally. When colour and shape are united 



CULTIVATION OF FLOWERS. 275 

in the works of nature, he who can view them 
with insensibility must resign all pretensions to 
delicacy of perception. Such a union has been 
usually effected by nature in the formation of a 
flower. 

There is scarcely a single object, in all the 
vegetable world, in which so many agreeable 
qualities are combined as in the queen of flow- 
ers, — the rose. Nature certainly meant to re- 
gale the senses of her favourite with an object 
which presents to him at once freshness, fra- 
grancy, colour, and shape. The very soul 
seems to be refreshed on the bare recollection 
of the pleasures which the senses receive in 
contemplating, in a fine vernal morning, the 
charms of the pink, the violet, the honeysuc- 
kle, the hyacinth, the narcissus, the jonquil, 
the rocket, the tulip, and a thousand others, in 
every variety of figure, scent, and hue. Na- 
ture is no less remarkable for the accuracy and 
beauty of her works, than for variety and pro- 
fusion. Defects are always discovered in the 
works of art when they are examined with a 
microscope ; but a close examination of a leaf 
of a flower is like taking off a veil from the 
face of beauty. The finest needle ever polish- 
ed, and pointed by the most ingenious artist, 
appears, when it is viewed by the solar micro- 
scope, quite obtuse ; while the sting of a bee, 
however magnified, still retains all its original 
acute ness of termination. The serrated border 
in the petal of a flower, and the fringe on the 
wing of a fly, display an accuracy of delinea- 



276 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

tion which no pencil ever yet could rival. The 
taste of the florist has not, indeed, been gene- 
rally aspired at in the circles of fashion ; while 
that of the connoisseur in painting 1 is consider- 
ed as a mark of elegance of character, and an 
honourable distinction. Yet surely it is an in- 
consistency to be transported with the work- 
manship of a poor mortal, and to feel no rap- 
tures in surveying those highly finished pic- 
tures, in which it is easy to trace the finger of 
Omnipotence. 

The poets have given us most luxuriant de- 
scriptions of gardens and of rural scenery ; and, 
though they are thought by some to have ex- 
ceeded reality, they have indeed scarcely equal- 
led it. Enter a modern shrubbery formed of a 
selection of the most agreeable flowering 
shrubs, and consider, whether there is any 
thing in the garden of Alcinous, in the fields 
of Elysium, in Milton's Paradise, to be compar- 
ed with the intermixture of the lilac, the syrin- 
ga, the laburnum, the double-blossomed cherry, 
peach, and almond ; with the rubinia, the jes- 
samine, the moss-rose, the magnolia, and a 
great number of others, less common, but not 
of greater though perhaps of equal beanty. As 
we walk under clusters of flowers white as 
snow, tinged with gold, purple as the grape, 
blue as the expanse of heaven, and blushing 
like the cheek of youth, we are led to imagine 
ourselves in fairy land, or in another and better 
world, where every delicate sense is delight- 
ed, and all around breathes fragrance and ex- 



CULTIVATION OF FLOWERS. 277 

pands beauty, while the heart seems to partici- 
pate in the joy of laughing nature. Groves and 
gardens have, indeed, been always supposed to 
soothe the mind into a placid temper peculiarly 
favourable to the indulgence of contemplation, 
The excellent taste which now prevails in 
gardening usually combines the shrubbery and 
the grove. The tall trees of the forest consti- 
tute the back-ground in the living landscape, 
and the shrubs, beneath and before them, form 
the underwood, in a delightful resemblance to 
the natural coppice and the uncultivated forest. 
The plane-tree is one of the first beauties 
among these which are now most frequently 
planted in our gardens. Its large leaf and per- 
manent verdure render it peculiarly fitted to 
afford a shade. I always consider it as a clas- 
sical tree, for the ancient writers often mention 
it; and some of the finest philosophical dia- 
logues of antiquity passed under the cool re- 
treat of its broad and vivid foliage. Socrates 
sought no other theatre than the turf that grew 
under the plane-tree on the banks of the Ilis- 
sus. The weeping-willow that droops over 
the babbling stream constitutes one of those 
fine beauties which partake of the melancholy 
and romantic. Such, indeed, are the charms of 
its luxuriant branches, that, when properly situ- 
ated, it is of itself an enchanting image. Beau- 
tiful as are all the features of the modern gar- 
den, I should not hesitate to allot the first place 
in an estimate of horticultural graces to the 
weeping-willow. The pendant birch is at all 



278 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

times pleasing, and a most delightful object in 
winter. Observe yonder tall stem, rising from 
the interstices of a craggy rock, covered with 
a rind white and glossy like silver, and droop- 
ing with ten thousand fine twigs, so attenuated 
as to appear almost papillary. View it when 
sprinkled with hoar frost, or with snow, and, if 
you have a soul capable of being charmed with 
natural beauty, you will be sensibly affected at 
the sight with a sweet complacency. An old 
oak is not often found in our gardens, because 
of its tardy vegetation ; but whenever it appears 
in them, it produces all the effect of graceful 
majesty, and one may contemplate it for hours 
with still new delight. The delicate acacia, the 
conical poplar of Lombardy, the flowery ches- 
nut, the soft lime, the elegant mountain ash, 
the aspiring fir, the glossy laurel, these all form 
so various and delightful pictures, that while I 
am permitted to expatiate over the lawn, and 
penetrate the mazes of the wood and garden, I 
shall not repine that the distance of my rural 
retreat may prevent me from sauntering in the 
picture-galleries of a palace. Nature shall be 
my painter, and yonder hill my picture-gallery. 
The taste for plantation prevails greatly in 
this country, and it ought to be encouraged, as 
it is a never^failing source of pleasure to the 
planter, and of improvement to the community. 
But it is to be hoped, that, while we plant the 
tree for ornament, we shall not forget to drop 
the acorn into the bosom of the earth, and raise 



DOMESTIC LIFE. 279 

that heart of oak, which bears an analogy to 
the bravery of the people, and has ever been to 
this land both a bulwark and a beauty. 



HAPPINESS OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 

An active life is exposed to many evils which 
cannot reach a state of retirement ; but it is 
found, by the uniform experience of mankind, 
to be, upon the whole, productive of the most 
happiness. All are desirous of avoiding the 
listlessness of an unemployed condition. With 
neither the incentives of ambition, of fame, of 
interest, nor of emulation, men eagerly rush 
upon hazardous and painful enterprises. There 
is a quick succession of ideas, a warm flow of 
spirits, an animated sensation, consequent on 
exertion, which amply compensate the fatigue 
of attention and the chagrin of disappointment. 

One of the most useful effects of action is, 
that it renders repose agreeable. Perpetual 
rest is pain of the most intolerable kind. But a 
judicious interchange of rest and motion, of in- 
dolent enjoyment and strenuous efforts, gives a 
true relish of life ; which, when too tranquil, 
is insipid ; when too much agitated, wearisome 
and disgustful. 

This sweet repose, which is necessary to re- 
store the vigour by relaxing the overstrained 
tone of the mind, has been sought for by the 
wisest and greatest of men at their own fire- 
side. Senators and heroes have shut out the 



230 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

acclamations of an applauding" world, to enjoy 
the prattling of their little ones, and to partake 
the endearments of the family circle. They 
knew that even their best friends, in the com- 
mon intercourse of life, were in some degree 
actuated by interested motives in displaying' 
their affection ; that many of their followers 
applauded them in hopes of reward ; and that 
the giddy multitude, however zealous, were 
not always judicious in their approbation. But 
the attentions paid them at their fire-side, the 
smiles which exhilarated their own table, were 
the genuine result of undissembled love, and 
home was the only secure haven in the tem- 
pestuous voyage of life. 

The nursery has often alleviated the fatigues 
of the bar and the senate-house. Nothing con- 
tributes more to raise the gently pleasing emo- 
tions, than the view of infant innocence enjoy- 
ing the raptures of a game at play. All the sen- 
timents of uncontrolled nature display them- 
selves to the view, and furnish matter for agree- 
able reflection to the mind of the good-natured 
and philosophical observer. To partake with 
children in their little pleasures, is by no means 
unmanly. It is one of the purest sources of 
mirth. It has an influence in amending the 
heart, which necessarily takes a tincture from 
the company that surrounds us. Innocence, as 
well as guilt, is communicated and increased 
by the contagion of example. And the great 
Author of evangelical philosophy has taught 
us to emulate the simplicity of the infantile 



DOMESTIC LIFE. 281 

age. He seems, indeed, himself to have been 
delighted with young children, and found in 
them, what he in vain sought among those who 
judged themselves their superiors, — unpolluted 
purity of heart. 

Among the great variety of pictures which 
the vivid imagination of Homer has displayed 
throughout the Iliad, there is not one more 
pleasing than the family-piece which repre- 
sents the parting interview between Hector 
and Andromache. It deeply interests the heart, 
while it delights the imagination. The hero 
ceases to be terrible, that he may become ami- 
able; We admire him while he stands com- 
pletely armed in the field of battle ; but we 
love him more while he is taking off his helmet, 
that he may not frighten his little boy with its 
nodding plumes. We are refreshed with the 
tender scene of domestic love, while all around 
breathes rage and discord. We are pleased to 
see the arm, which is shortly to deal death and 
destruction among a host of foes, employed in 
caressing an infant son with the embraces of 
paternal love. A professed critic would attri- 
bute the pleasing effect entirely to contrast; 
but the heart has declared, previously to the 
inquiries of criticism, that it is chiefly derived 
from the satisfaction which we naturally take 
in beholding great characters engaged in ten- 
der and amiable employments. 

But, after all that is said of the purity and 
the solidity of domestic pleasures, they unfortu- 
nately appear, to a great part of mankind, insi- 



282 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

pid, unmanly, and capable of satisfying none 
but the weak, the spiritless, the inexperienced, 
and the effeminate. The pretenders to modern 
philosophy are often found to renounce the best 
and most natural feelings of the human heart, 
and, while they affect a superior liberality, to 
regulate their lives by the most selfish princi- 
ples. Whatever appears to have little tenden- 
cy to promote their own personal pleasure and 
advantage, they leave to be performed by those 
simple indiyiduals, who are dull enough, as they 
say, to pursue the journey of life by the dull 
road of common sense. It is true they will al- 
low, that the world must be replenished by a 
perpetual succession; and it is no less true, 
that an offspring, once introduced into the 
world, requires all the care of painful attention. 
But let the task be reserved for meaner spirits. 
If the passions can be gratified without the 
painful consequences of supporting a family, 
they eagerly seize the indulgence. But the 
toil of education, the maintenance of a progeny, 
they leave to those whom they deem fools 
enough to take pleasure in it. There will al- 
ways be a sufficient number, say they, whose 
folly will lead them, for the sake of a silly pas- 
sion called virtuous love, to engage in a life 
of perpetual anxiety. The fool's paradise, they 
add with derision, will never be deserted. 

Presumptuous as are all such pretenders to 
newly-invented systems of life and conduct, it 
is not to be supposed they will think them- 
selves superior to Cicero. Yet Cicero, with all 



DOMESTIC LIFE. 283 

his liberality of mind, felt the tenderness of 
conjugal and paternal attachment, and acknow- 
ledged that, at one time, he received no satis- 
faction in any company but that of his wife, his 
little daughter, and, to use his own epithet, his 
honied young Cicero. The great Sir Thomas 
More, whom nobody will suspect of narrow- 
ness of mind, who, by a very singular treatise, 
evinced that he was capable of thinking and of 
choosing for himself, has left it on record, that 
he devoted a great share of his time, from the 
united motives of duty and delight, to the 
amusement of his children. 

It will be objected by those who pretend to 
have formed their ideas of life from actual ob- 
servation, that domestic happiness, however 
pleasing in description, like many a poetic 
dream, is but an alluring picture, designed by 
a good heart, and painted in glowing colours 
by a lively fancy. The constant company, they 
urge, even of those we love, occasions an in- 
sipidity. Insipidity grows into disgust. Dis- 
gust, long continued, sours the temper. Peev- 
ishness is the natural consequence. The do- 
mestic circle becomes the scene of dispute. 
Mutual antipathy is ingenious in devising mu- 
tual torment. Sullen silence or malignant re- 
marks fill up every hour, till the arrival of a 
stranger causes a temporary restraint, and ex- 
cites that good humour which ought to be dis- 
played among those whom the bonds of affec- 
tion and blood have already united. 

Experience, indeed, proves that these re- 



284 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

marks are sometimes verified. But that there is 
much domestic misery, is no argument that 
there is no domestic happiness, or that the evil 
may not he removed. 

Natural stupidity, natural ill- temper, acquir- 
ed ill habits, want of education, illiberal man- 
ners, and a neglect of the common rules of 
discretion, will render every species of inter- 
course disagreeable. When those are united 
by connubial ties, who were separated by natu- 
ral and inherent diversity, no wonder if that de- 
gree of happiness which can only result from a 
proper union is unknown. In the forced alli- 
ance, which the poet of Venusium mentions, of 
the serpent with the dove, of the tiger with 
the lamb, there can be no true love. When 
we expatiate on the happiness of the domestic 
group, we presuppose that all who compose 
it are originally assimilated by affection, and 
are still kept in union by discreet friendship, 
goodness of heart, and a sense of duty. Where 
this is not the case, the censure must fall on the 
discordant disposition of the parties, and not on 
the essential nature and regular tendency of 
family intercourse. 

To form, under the direction of prudence, 
and by the impulse of virtuous love, an early 
conjugal attachment, is one of the best securi- 
ties of virtue, as well as the most probable 
means of happiness. The duties which are 
powerfully called forth by the relations of hus- 
band and father, are of that tender kind which 
inspires goodness and humanity. He who be- 



A CONCLUDING ESSAY. 285 

holds a woman whom he loves, and an help- 
less infant, looking up to him for support, will 
not easily be induced to indulge in unbecoming 
extravagance, or devote himself to indolence 
or folly. He who has a rising family to intro- 
duce into a vicious world, will be cautious of 
setting a bad example, the contagion of which, 
when it proceeds from paternal authority, must 
be irresistibly malignant. Thus many who, in 
their individual and unconnected state, would 
probably have spent a life not only useless to 
others, but profligate and careless in itself, have 
become valuable members of the community, 
and have arrived at a degree of moral improve- 
ment to which they would not otherwise have 
attained. 

The contempt in which domestic pleasures 
have sometimes been held, is a mark of profli- 
gacy. It is also a proof of prevailing igno- 
rance of real enjoyment. It argues a defect in 
taste and judgment, as well as in morals. For 
the general voice of the experienced has in all 
ages declared, that the truest happiness is to be 
found at home. 



A CONCLUDING ESSAY. 

We have endeavoured, throughout the whole 
series of these essays, to warn those who are 
entering into life (and to them our admonitions 
are chiefly addressed) against those fashionable 
examples which often militate against all that 
is decent, regular, virtuous, and learned. Un- 



286 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

less we are taught in our youth to be on our 
guard against their destructive influences, we 
shall certainly incur imminent danger of cor- 
rupting our principles and practice, by a blind 
and bigoted imitation. Experience daily evin- 
ces, that, without this precaution, all the advan- 
tages of a virtuous and learned education, all 
the precautions of paternal care, all prudential, 
moral, and religious restraints may be totally 
frustrated. The rich and great may be consi- 
dered as beacons on a promontory ; and if they 
hang out deceitful lights, they who will allow 
no other signal to direct them (and the number 
of these are infinite) will probably be misguid- 
ed in the voyage of their lives, till they are 
dashed on rocks or sunk in whirlpools. 

In adopting modes of address and external 
behaviour, the study of which appears to en- 
gross the attention of many, we have advised the 
young man to begin his work at the founda- 
tion ; to correct his heart and temper, that the 
graces of his appearance may proceed from that 
copious and infallible source of whatever is 
pleasing, a disposition truly virtuous and unaf- 
fectedly amiable. We have exhorted him to 
avoid servility, adulation, preferment-hunting, 
and meanness of every kind ; to endeavour, in- 
deed, to please those with whom he converses, 
but to let the endeavour arise from benevolent 
motives, from a humane and Christian desire of 
diffusing ease and happiness among the chil- 
dren of one Almighty Father, and the partakers 
of the same imperfect nature. We have ad- 



A CONCLUDING ESSAY. 287 

vised him to be firm, yet gentle, — manly, yet 
polite : to cultivate every ornamental accom- 
plishment which leads not to effeminacy, and to 
study to be as agreeable as possible, while he 
can be at the same time sincere ; to despise, and 
most studiously avoid, that common but base 
character, which, with motives peculiarly self- 
ish and contracted, pretends to uncommon good- 
nature, friendship, benevolence, and genero- 
sity ; whose assiduities are proportioned to the 
rank or fortune of the persons who are courted, 
without the least regard to virtue or attain- 
ments ; whose politeness is that of a valet or 
French dancing-master, and whose objects, 
after all its professions and pretences to liberal- 
ity, are no less interested than those of a 
Jew usurer. We have advised him to value 
the approbation of his own heart, and the com- 
forts of a clear conscience, above the smiles, 
the applause, and the rewards of a vain, a wick- 
ed, a deceitful, and a transitory world. 

In literature, we have recommended the 
union of taste with science, and of science with 
taste ; a selection of the best authors on all the 
subjects which claim his particular attention ; 
a love of originals, and a due distrust of trans- 
lations ; a constant effort to obtain depth and 
solidity; a persevering, regular, indefatigable 
industry, especially in the earlier periods of a 
studious course, not only because no distin- 
guished excellence can be obtained without it, 
but also because a close attention to study, and 
an ardent love of letters in the juvenile age, is 



■^3 THE AMERICAN GENTLEMAN. 

a great preservative of innocence, and conduces 
much to the diversion or extinction of passions 
and tendencies which cannot be habitually in- 
dulged without sin, shame, and misery. 

Upon the whole, and after all the subtle dis- 
quisitions of proud philosophy ; all the inven- 
tions which owe their origin to malice, vanity, 
or ingenuity ; all the whimsical modes of liv- 
ing and thinking which fashion dictates for the 
employment of her idle hours, or for the gratifi- 
cation of her full-blown pride ; the plain virtues, 
as they are understood by plain men of honest 
hearts and good faculties, improved by a com- 
petent education, are the best security for com- 
fort under all the circumstances, and in all sit- 
uations of human life. Sedentary and recluse 
persons may amuse themselves, in the reve- 
ries of inactivity, with speculative refinement 
and sceptical subtleties; but they who are 
really wise, and earnestly wish to obtain the 
happiness of which they are capable in this 
sublunary state, must descend from the elevated 
regions of sophistry, and labour to acquire, with 
the assistance of common sense and common 
honesty, the virtues of faith, humility, piety, 
and benevolence. 



674 



END. 




J?% • **■ V 








4> 







Deacidified using the Bookkeeper procqj 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Dec. 2004 



% / 



PreservationTechnologifj 



«fc ,o- 







> c« I'* 






W 



\^ 






^ "%_ 




->, 



#^ * n 












^ 



,, > 




^v 





